


According to Plans

by eldee



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Diverges canon after 2.06, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Pretend Boyfriends, Senior year
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-08
Updated: 2013-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-09 10:04:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 72,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/454255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldee/pseuds/eldee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Stiles and Derek pretend to be boyfriends, and the one time they didn't have to pretend at all.   (Or: in which Stiles' plan for senior year is completely ruined by a supernatural creature stalking him.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's Notes:** This fic takes place in their senior year, so a couple years after Season 1 &2\. When I began writing this, Season 2 wasn't over yet, and only up to episode 2.06 was aired. As I had no idea what was going to happen in the rest of the season, I took some aspects from the show up to that point but made up the rest, especially the way I used a new character for my own nefarious plot purposes. As it was all plotted out, I didn't make any adjustments to comply with new canon as it aired, so there are some significant differences from how season 2 ended.
> 
> Consider this fic a Canon AU.
> 
>  **Thanks:** Many thanks to **asocialfauxpas** for endless cheerleading, and reading this over for me. ♥

Stiles resolutely decides that senior year is going to be the _best_. 

Okay, so sophomore year was a bit of a wash with the whole werewolf and kanima debacle, but they all worked through that, piece of cake. And junior year wasn't too bad -- even with having to deal with two packs getting used to sharing territory. Oh, and add to that, the couple of vampire clans that started to hang around and decided to duke it out over, who knows what, ancient hierarchy or something stupid like that. The Wolves & Co. banded together to punt their pasty vamp asses right out of their town. Easy peasy. Really.

So, whatever, Stiles has to use fingers on both hands _and_ all his toes to count off how many near-death experiences he's had by the age of seventeen. No biggie. Senior year is going to rule. Stiles just _knows_ it. He has plans: continue to make first string of the lacrosse team, pass all his school work with flying colours and get into an awesome university somewhere close to where Scott'll probably be going to community college, and most importantly, _start dating_. God, he really wants to stop fearing for his life and go on _dates_ and have make-out and more sessions and be a normal high school student for once. This is the year it's going to happen. _Really_. Best year.

Which means, naturally, it begins to descend to hell in a sparkly (no, seriously, it's sparkly) handbasket before it even starts.

Of course.

"Dad!" Stiles exclaims when his father stumbles into the kitchen around noon. It's the day before school starts and Stiles has wisely used his time to sleep in as much as possible. His dad had worked the night shift, and when Stiles finally emerged from his room he had assumed his dad was already in bed.

Instead, his dad startles the heck out of Stiles while he's making breakfast by coming in through the front door, still in full uniform, and _covered_ with …

"Is that glitter?" Stiles asks, hastily setting his plate of scrambled eggs and toast on the counter. He reaches out and brushes his dad's shoulder. He pulls his hand away and looks at his palm; there is purple and gold glitter _all_ over it. Stiles makes a face and tries to rub it back onto his dad's coat sleeve; that just spreads it all around and Stiles somehow gets some up his nose. He sneezes.

"Bless you," his dad says.

"Thanks," Stiles replies. "Purple isn't really your colour. The gold works, though. Goes with the badge."

"Very funny," his dad says, slumping down onto a chair. He's got a little smile on his face, though, kind of dopey and pleased but tired. It's all kinds of weird. "What time is it? And what did you do to me?"

"Me?" Stiles asks, incredulously. "Why do you think I did this? And, it's noon. Why?"

His dad frowns. "I know I drove home from the station at the end of my shift. Which was five am and now it's noon. I must've fallen asleep in the car when I got here."

That isn't right. His father _never_ does that. But Stiles didn't want to say, Hey, getting up there in years, huh? Instead, he goes with, "I don't believe that. Obviously you've gone to an all-night rave. You didn't drop any E, did you? Because drugs are bad, Dad, they're _bad_. Just say no."

"This isn't 1999, Stiles, there're no raves around here," his father starts, and Stiles swears he hears a _anymore, thank god_ muttered under his breath, but they both know that's not really true. He adds, "I don't appreciate the practical joke. Least you could've done was wake me up and get me in the house before you threw a glitter bomb at me."

Stiles holds his hands up defensively. "I didn't do this! Come on, how could you think that?"

"I don't know about you, but I remember the time you--"

Stiles interrupts, because he knows exactly where this is going. "I was six-years-old! It doesn't count."

"-- Glued googly eyes all over the radio scanner," his dad finishes. Stiles can see he's trying to hide his amusement at the memory. No, really, Stiles was adorable at six when trying to make his father laugh. Stiles was always adorable. He still is, just in a manly way now. "My patrol car is not for arts and crafts. Not then, not now."

"Come on, Dad, I swear it wasn't me. Must've been the Jenkins kids down the road or something."

Stiles isn't sure how likely that is -- the Jenkins kids would more likely use a BB gun to shoot at chipmunks than run around sprinkling sparkles on people to make them look pretty -- but at least it's a viable option that isn't _him_.

His dad sighs, running a hand through his hair and causing a shower of glitter to fall to the floor. Stiles snorts, because come on, it's a _little_ funny. His father rolls his eyes but says, "Maybe it was. I'll have a talk with their mother later. I need to go shower and get all this crap off. And get some sleep." He looks at Stiles, who has resumed shoving forkfuls of eggs into his mouth. "What're the plans for the last day of freedom?"

"Schmoppin," Stiles says around his food. At his dad's pointed look, he swallows and repeats, "Shopping. For school. Supplies and stuff? Pens and … I don't know, stuff." He gives his dad a hopefully look. "Clothes?"

"You have twenty-seven hoodies, I'm not giving you money for another one."

"Not twenty- _seven_ ," Stiles grumbles.

"I'm not giving you money for _stuff_ , either. After twelve years, you'd think you'd know what you needed for school."

"Right? I'll just have to wing it, I guess."

"A senior," his dad says, shaking his head, as if he can't quite believe it. "And next year, college--"

"Whoa, whoa, Dad," Stiles says, holding up his fork. A large piece of egg goes flying, his dad's eyes following it to the floor. "Don't worry, I'll get that."

"Yes, you will."

"The point is not the egg, but your parental angst," Stiles says, "and not getting ahead of yourself about college and feeling down about it _but_ you can elevate such misery by giving your only son, who is now a senior, by the way -- which is only one step away from going away to college, in case you missed that part -- some money. For school stuff."

His dad pulls out a twenty. "Dad, this isn't 1999 anymore," Stiles protests with a cheeky grin, "it's not like I'm buying a Pokémon folder for ninety-nine cents."

"You were barely starting pre-school then, right? Jesus."

"There, there, it's okay, old man," Stiles says reassuring. "Plus, think of inflation in my life time. Or, like, even the past year. That's not enough."

"That doesn't sound right, sure you passed economics?" Stiles hums in agreement, because he so did. Raising one eyebrow, his dad pulls out another twenty, which Stiles happily snatches up. "School supplies, not clothes."

"Sure thing, boss," Stiles says, giving his dad a salute. More egg goes flying. "I'll clean that up."

His dad sighs and heads up the stairs, leaving a trail of purple and gold glitter after him. At least Stiles doesn't have to worry about that mess. Probably.

\---

The moment Stiles steps outside, he knows it wasn't the Jenkins kids. There's no way they could've done this.

First off, it looks like it rained glitter all over their yard, especially their flowers.

Second off ... they don't _have_ flowers. 

At least, they're not supposed to. Stiles remembers a time when there were flowers about the yard, little gardens that he liked to help his mom weed. But the Stilinski men didn't quite have the motivation to do it after she was gone. They keep the yard tidy, yes, but not necessarily _nice_. Right now it looks like a flower shop and craft store combined forces to throw up all over their lawn as retribution for not keeping it pretty these past few years.

"Holy shit," Stiles says as he walks along the sidewalk to his father's car. He doesn't know the flowers by name, but there are a variety of purple and yellowish ones, some so dark they could be gold, some very high with big blossoms that crowd over little petite petals. They've grown along the walk, and in the little garden patch on the far side of the yard, all the places there _used_ to be flowers.

"Stiles! Your yard!"

Stiles looks up and sees Mrs. Jenkins going for her afternoon walk. Her little rug rats aren't with her, but he doesn't need to ask if they did this because he seriously doubts they did. "Hi," he greets. He waves his hands around helplessly, trying to think up an explanation. "The community's most beautiful yard contest," he says suddenly. "We thought we'd try this year."

"Oh, honey," she says as she looks around. "That's ... ambitious of you. And the glitter is a nice touch," she adds. He can hear the _unnatural, but nice_ underlying her words. "But they announced the winner last week. I'm afraid you're a bit behind in the season."

"Oh! Right, right, silly me," he says. "I'll have to pay more attention next year. Help my dad out sooner and all."

"How is he?" she asks.

"He's great. Just great."

"He's doing a marvelous job," she gushes. "Protecting our town. All those --" her voice drops to a whisper "--crazy rumors going on a couple years ago, they're all but gone now."

"Yes, things are under control," Stiles says. Sure, the Beacon County Sherriff's Department -- his dad and staff -- did their part, though Stiles knows he and his friends were a huge help in cleaning up that mess. That they were at least partly responsible for. Whatever. He thought everything was fine, he truly did, and that his senior year was going to be awesome and normal with nothing to worry about. 

Then his father got glitter bombed by some mystery flowers. He's not so sure anymore.

"Well, I should--" he glances around and sighs "--clean up."

"Interesting choices," she says thoughtfully. Smiling, she adds, "You can probably do without the glitter next year."

"Right," Stiles replies, snapping his fingers as if it's the most brilliant piece of advice in the world. "Good idea. I'll -- do that. Won't do that. You know."

Mrs. Jenkins gives him one more look, like she's trying to keep on the sly that she finds him incredibly odd, and waves her hand as she continues on down the sidewalk.

"Oh, god," he moans as he looks around. He's already got sparkly stuff all over his jeans and hoodie and all he did was stand there for three minutes. Cleaning up this mess is going to _suck_ , but he's determined to do it before his father wakes up and really comes to investigate the scene of the likely supernatural crime.

\---

"I just don't think it's that big a deal," Scott says, sitting down at a double desk in the chemistry room.

Stiles slides into the seat beside him and leans in to whisper. "Not a big deal? Scott, you didn't see it. It was--" he looks around to make sure no one is listening, and as far as he can tell, the normal people aren't "--unnatural. Like, really unnatural."

"Super unnatural?" Scott says with a smirk, bobbing his head in that way that means he thinks he's being funny. "Like, supernatural but … superunnatural."

"You're lame," Stiles says flatly, then flails his arms. "I'm saying that it needs to be further investigated!"

"Um, okay," Scott says with a shrug. "Let me know what you find."

"What _I_ find?" Stiles slumps back in his chair. "You're not going to help me?"

"Well, to be fair -- and this is all props to you, seriously -- you're the one who does the research thing. You're good at it."

"I didn't find anything," Stiles says grumpily. "Well. Nothing that was helpful. Glitter flowers is a really interesting Google search, let me tell you -- seriously, look at page 15 of the images, there are painted fingernails more deadly than yours, but look a lot nicer. Yours are really gross, huh? But that's beside the point! Come on, you're the one with …" He trails off and wiggles his nose. Or tries to, but mostly he thinks his face just scrunches up goofily. 

Scott gives him a weird look. "I'm the one who what? Is this a round of charades?"

"No, shut up. You can help with your nose. And, you know," Stiles says, putting his hands up behind his ears and flapping them a bit.

"Dumbo!" Scott says loudly. "I'm Dumbo."

Stiles snorts. From the back of the room Jackson calls out, "Yeah, we know, McCall," and everyone titters.

"What's that?" Allison says as she slides into the desk next to them.

"Apparently, I'm Dumbo," Scott says glumly, and gives her the biggest puppy dog eyes ever.

"Awe, no you're not," she says, and leans in to pat his cheek. He grins a little and goes to kiss her and--

Stiles starts making loud gagging noises. They break apart, Allison grinning at him while Scott tries to shoot him the Glare of Death. Well, no, not that bad, maybe just the Glare of Harm, but it's not working. Two years of putting up with this and Stiles totally gets rights to call a cease-kissing whenever he wants.

"Come on, man," Stiles says, "come by with all your--" he waves his hand around "-- senses and check things out?"

"What's going on?" Allison asks.

"Nothing," Scott answers just as Stiles bursts out, "Oh my god, the worst thing!"

Mr. Harris stands up at the front of the room, signaling the start of their first class of the year. He's glaring at Stiles which, in the past two years, is a thing that hasn't changed _at all_.

"Mr. Stilinski," he says coolly. "I thought I heard your delectable tones. Are you going to keep it down so I can begin your final and torturous year?"

"Yep," Stiles says with false cheeriness, internally cursing himself for starting off like this already. "Of course. No problem." He reaches down into his backpack and pulls out his binder.

That's when a huge puff of glitter flies out and fills the air.

Everyone snickers; no, it's more on the side of full-out laughing. Only Mr. Harris doesn't look impressed.

"Stilinski, you should've left your summer at home," he says blandly. There's more laughter.

Stiles gives a weak laugh and waves his hand through the cloud and gets it everywhere. "Oh, uh, yeah, this was -- those kids down the street -- joke."

"Of course it was," he says dryly and picks up a stack of papers. "Now, if I can get everyone's attention, we'll start by going through this year's syllabus, and I can tell you about the wonderful exam that's worth half your final grade."

Everyone groans. Stiles the loudest, but he has a lot of reasons for that.

\---

When Stiles leaves class, he's cornered at his locker by _Jackson_ , of all the people.

Jackson is still the kanima, just not the crazy and mind-controlled homicidal one anymore. It's always nicer when that's not an issue. He doesn't have to follow the orders of a master; they got rid of _that_ dude, and quick. And Derek stepped up and finally did the right thing, claiming Jackson like he should've. Jackson still isn't _pack_ , he's not a werewolf. He isn't like the other three are to Derek, and not like Stiles, Scott, and Allison are with each other. He's neither here nor there, and spends most his time with Danny and Lydia, both who know everything now -- or, well, enough of it -- and the trio make up almost-but-not-quite a pack. Sort of like the links between the others, or something. 

"I texted Derek about your little problem," Jackson says.

Jackson still defers to Derek though, damnit, especially when it has to do with anything that causes trouble and will create possible threats to Stiles.

"Why'd you do that?" Stiles asks. He's not even going to complain about Jackson eavesdropping on private conversations. He's long learned to get over that one, what with all the supernatural hearing that goes on around here. But it is really, _really_ annoying.

Jackson shrugs. "'Cause McCall wasn't going to. Don't worry, I told Derek all about your fear of kittens and rainbows."

Stiles blinks. "Shut up, you did not."

Jackson holds up his phone to show Stiles the screen. 

"Oh, god," Stiles says, slapping his hand to his forehead. "You did! Why did you do that?"

"He wants to know whenever anything weird is going on."

"Admittedly, that _is_ weird," Stiles says, gesturing to the phone, "but that's not what I said! It's glitter and flowers, thank you very much. Kittens and rainbows are just fine." Until they _aren't_ but hopefully they aren't going to go there yet.

"Whatever," Jackson says. "I did what I'm supposed to." That's a big improvement for Jackson but Stiles is still pissed. Jackson brushes past Stiles, but then turns around as he walks backwards so he can fully smirk when he says, "He didn't get back to me. Guess no one cares about your landscape problem. Call a gardener."

"Jerk," Stiles says under his breath, and hopes to hell that Jackson heard it. He may not be one of the bad guys anymore but Jackson is still a pain in the ass.

Fine, then. If no one is going to help, Stiles will just have to do it himself. As soon as possible. Right after school, in fact.

\---

The whistle blows loudly, and right in Stiles' ear too.

Okay, so maybe not right after school. There's that whole lacrosse practice thing going on first.

"What's wrong, Coach?" Stiles asks, wondering why he had the whistle blown at him. He was actually doing _good_. All that running around from supernatural assholes who try to kill you, to moving injured or unconscious bodies around, and all that jazz, really has Stiles in good shape. And he's doing _good_ this practice.

"You're reflecting at me," Coach Finstock says, and squints at Stiles. "Why are you reflecting at me? This isn't drama practice, we don't need to see your shining star or whatever you're trying to pull here."

Stiles looks down at his practice uniform and sighs. When he pulled his equipment out of his bag, he hadn't been able to get all the glitter off. He has no idea where it all came from, his school stuff wasn't near the yard until after it got cleaned up. The stuff is like an infection and spreading everywhere.

"Sorry, Coach," he says, but doesn't elaborate. "Won't happen again."

"Actually, it probably will. Everyone gather in! Now!" As everyone runs towards them, Coach leans in and asks Stiles, "I made the right call not making a sparkly vampire comment, right?"

"Yeah, Coach," Stiles says. "No one wants to hear that."

"Good. I'm totally hip with what's not hip," he says. "Gotta stay in touch with you young idiots. _I said gather 'round!_ " He blows the whistle again, and Stiles is able to hide his snorting sound because of it.

After everyone is in a formation around the coach, he starts in on a rather long (but completely valid) speech about how things around the school keep getting broken and destroyed. "Especially in the locker room, for some reason. Now, I know none of you brutes would do anything to your own turf, right?" There's silence and the coach puts his hands on his hips. " _Right_?"

"Right, Coach!" goes up the round of voices.

"Right. But it's costing our department a big wad of cash we do not have. I still haven't been able to replace the Bowflex that was mysteriously broken last year."

Stiles notices how Jackson and Scott are studiously looking away from each other. Oh yeah, there was that incident last spring when the wolf and the kanima were a couple of territorial morons for all of five seconds before Stiles called Derek in to deal with it. Derek was there almost instantly, which is why Stiles is pretty sure that his theory of Derek spending his entire day lurking around the school like a creeper isn't actually a theory but a law of physics. Derek put both the idiot pups in time-out, which was almost amusing except for how they both pouted for _days_ and _days_ and Stiles had to hear all about it. But Derek hadn't been there in time to save Coach's precious gym equipment, which was irrevocably broken. None of them heard the end of it from the coach for a couple months either, not until school was finished and they just didn't have to see him. And apparently it _isn't_ the end.

"... So that's why we're doing that. Stiles!" Coach says. "This is when your sparkly junk will become very useful."

"Um," Stiles says. The other guys laugh because … well, yeah. Thanks for that, Coach. _Sparkly junk_ , did he really just say that? Stiles wants the earth to open up and swallow him whole.

"Make a poster about our fundraiser, take your shirt and rub it all over to spice it up, and then hang up the poster." Coach claps his hands together and looks at Stiles expectantly. "Think you could do that?"

"Uh, sure." 

"Good, you're in charge of advertising." Coach turns to another player to assign him some sort of task.

Stiles leans towards Scott. "What am I in charge of?"

"Advertising."

"Yes, thanks, Sherlock," Stiles says, rolling his eyes. "Of _what_."

"The team's fundraising event. Weren't you listening?"

Stiles doesn't have time to answer that -- of course he wasn't -- when the coach calls for their attention again. "I'm sure you all know Ms. Morrell." He points over to the bleachers, and the guidance councilor waves at them all. "She's been very generous in agreeing to help supervise our fundraising event--"

Stiles hisses at Scott, " _What_ event?"

"Stilinksi!" Coach yells out.

"Yes, sir?" 

"You'll be needing to talk to her about times and venues and such. To put on your shiny posters."

"Right, will do," he says, and waves at Ms. Morrell. She smiles at him.

Stiles likes the councilor. She's nice and has left him alone about his fidgetiness in class and tendency to get sent to the principle's office because of it. She just tries to redirect it, or find him coping mechanisms, and stuff like that. It hasn't really worked, probably because he doesn't pay that much attention, but she's been good about it. He and his dad actually just saw her the week before; his dad was concerned about Stiles and his college applications, wanting to make sure Stiles wasn't slacking off on not taking the right courses to get in and such. It had been _fine_ , of course, but his dad had looked more at ease after the meeting. Well, before the parental angst started, anyway.

They're finally dismissed, and he dutifully runs up to her.

"Hi, Ms. Morrell," Stiles greets. "I have no idea what I'm doing."

She grins at him. "I think that's why I've been recruited. Do you have a free period tomorrow?"

"After lunch," he says, nodding.

"Come by my office then."

"Sure," he says. She says goodbye and starts to walk away.

When Stiles makes a startled noise, she turns back to him. "Is everything okay, Mr. Stilinski?"

"Oh, yeah, fine," he says, and plasters on a smile. He points to her bag, which has a long strap and the purse part is settled on her hip. "That's a nice flower."

The stem is twined around the zipper pull and it hangs down a little. It looks pretty darn similar to the ones that popped up in his yard yesterday. He swears there's even some glitter on it, catching in the light of the afternoon sun.

"Thank you," she says with a smile. "I like flowers."

"Yeah, uh, great. Me too. It's … yeah." His mind is whirling a million miles a minute, but he doesn't know what to say to interrogate a guidance councilor about attacking his father's house with girly things, so he just waves and turns abruptly, going back to the locker room. 

At least he has a clue what, and who, to research. Possibly.

"You really should get that problem checked out," Scott says as Stiles pulls off his shirt and there's glitter practically embedded in his skin.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious," Stiles replies. "Are you gonna come with me to do research?"

"Nah, can't," Scotts says, unsurprisingly. "I'm giving Allison a ride home."

"Sure you are," Stiles says, and as much as he doesn't want to see the two of them sucking each other's lips off, he can't hold it against them for wanting time alone. Must be kinda nice.

\---

Internet research is rather unfruitful. There still isn't anything on flowers appearing out of thin air, nothing he can take seriously. There's no info on Ms. Morrell either, other than being listed on Beacon Hills High School webpage as part of the staff. He tries to think about her back over the last couple of years, but other than his few interactions -- and knowing that she's not nearly as good at Archaic Latin as their smart Lydia is -- he's got nothing substantial that would mean she has anything to do with anything.

Nothing other than a smelly flower, and Stiles just _knows_ that means something.

He thinks about asking Lydia about Ms. Morrell and how her sessions went … and yeah, _no_. That's not going to go over well, she doesn't like to talk about it and Stiles will just get punched in the balls if he tries, so he'll have to come up with something else. A last resort, maybe, but a very much last resort because he rather likes his balls how they are.

But, it's okay. Stiles can figure this out.

After some frustration, he pushes it out of his mind long enough to do some homework because he knows how Mr. Harris will jump on him tomorrow so he needs to be prepared. It's later into the evening when his father calls out that he needs to head into the station for a bit.

"Okay, Dad!" Stiles yells back. 

Just as he hears the front door slam shut -- that's when he _feels_ it, something beckoning to him, deep and warm in his chest. The smell of flowers suddenly fills his room.

"Shit," he says, and shakes his head, trying to clear the sudden fogginess from it.

He bolts downstairs, throws open the door, and sees his dad standing by his car. Not getting in, not checking it for flat tires or anything, just standing as still as a statue. He's staring down the road, past the Jenkins' house, and into the woods that line the back of it.

"Dad!" Stiles says, and his father snaps out of it. "Aren't you going to be late for work?"

"Right," his dad says, and opens the car door.

"That way," Stiles says, pointing the opposite direction of where his father was staring. "Don't forget, it's that way."

" Yes, Stiles, I know." When the car starts to back out of the drive, Stiles worries that it'll turn the wrong way, that his dad will steer it in the direction of the flower smell. Thankfully, he doesn't. He heads to work.

Stiles? Well, he should go back into the house. Finish looking at his chemistry chapter, and prepare for tomorrow, and maybe go online one more time to see if he can come up with anything.

He doesn't, though. Instead, he follows the smell he instinctively knew to keep his father away from. Apparently, the lure is enough to get one Stilinski that night. Stiles much prefers it to be himself.

\---

Stiles knows these woods like the back of his hand; he practically grew up right in them, and as children he and Scott explored a lot. Then, of course, in the recent years there's been all the crazy activity happening here, so they've become even more familiar. He should know better than to go into them alone, especially when he doesn't even know what he's looking for, but who ever said he played it cautious? No one, that's who.

Which is probably the problem.

He follows the smell and it overtakes him, filling his head with its sweet lure. The further he goes into the forest, the lighter it gets outside -- which is just wrong, because it's the end of the day and it's _always_ darker the deeper you get into the thick trees. In the dim light, he can see little sparkles floating on the air -- not quite like craft glitter, maybe, but he can pick out speckles of gold and purple.

He breaks through a thicket and steps into a clearing, and that's when he sees it -- when he sees _her_.

Ms. Morrell.

Only, this isn't the Ms. Morrell he knows. The woman in front of him is even more unearthly beautiful, a shimmer of gold brushed over her skin and catching in the light, purple streaks in her dark hair. Her ears are pointed -- not ridiculous-pointed like Scott or Derek's, but delicate like Arwen from Lord of the Rings. When she flashes her eyes at him, they're all golden except for purple pupils.

Clearly, she has a colour scheme going on to her supernaturalness.

He thinks about ducking out of there, because he has no idea what the hell is going on and seeing this has shaken him out of his daze, but she's already seen him. He stands on the edge of the light that's illuminating from her, at least a good twelve feet, which isn't all that reassuring. It doesn't feel far enough.

She stands in an elegant pose and she nods knowingly. "A Stilinski. I've been waiting."

"Oh, well, here I am," Stiles says, then points a thumb over his shoulder. "You know, I think I'll just--"

"Do not go yet," she says, and it feels like Stiles' feet are cemented to the forest floor. Shit, he's not going anywhere. She tilts her head as she slowly steps around him in a wide berth, but her light is still keeping him in its circle. Flowers spring up underfoot with each step she takes. And he's pretty sure that, at some angles, he can see nearly invisible but iridescent wings out behind her, but it could just be a trick of the light. He hopes to hell it is because he doesn't even know how he's going to deal with _wings_.

"Tell me, Stiles," she says. "Are you very lonely?"

"Of course not," he answers immediately. "No loneliness here. Very un-lonely. I have loads of friends."

"Do you, now?"

"And they'll miss me, you know. If I don't show up tomorrow? They'll know. They will _all_ know. And come looking. Just saying. We're good like that."

"That is not what I meant. In matters of the heart, are you lonely?"

"Well, are _you_?" he blurts out before thinking. That … probably isn't the best tactic ever, and he's kind of defensive over it, he'll be the first to admit it. But getting over your first real and long-lasting crush and then having no one else that even comes close to filling that void really sucks.

She doesn't seem to be offended. She tilts her head to the other way and says sadly, "Very. And for a very, _very_ long time." Her face brightens and she smiles. And, oh god, all her top teeth are pointed. Tiny, but still very _pointed_. Stiles knows enough to be nervous of that. She sounds incredibly pleased with herself when she says, "But I think that's over now. I don't have to be alone. I've found--"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Stiles says, and he's looking around for a way out of this mess while waving his hands defensively even though his feet won't budge. "That's very flattering and, uh, morally unethically of you, but flattering! But you're not my type. Really not. And I need to go. Now. My dad will be really worried. Did you know he's the Sheriff? Of course you did."

"You're not going anywhere, Stiles," she says calmly, not at all intimidated by him. "Not until I--"

She's interrupted again, thank fuck, but not by Stiles. There's a growl that rips through the air, one that's familiar and sends of rush of relief pulsing through his body.

Derek bursts through the trees and bounds a giant leap. Stiles is surprised when he lands neatly beside Stiles, wolfed out and on all fours, instead of slashing at the throat of the supernatural being with his sharp claws. It's his favourite move.

"A werewolf," the non-Ms. Morrell says. She looks amused rather than frightened. "How adorable are you?" She'd probably reach out and pinch Derek's cheeks like a granny if he'd let her.

Stiles' nervousness takes over. "Oh, so you haven't met him? He has big claws. Likes to use them, too. A lot. In painfully-tear-you-apart ways. Just saying."

"Not helping, Stiles," Derek says. He stands up and shuffles closer to Stiles -- hey, Derek can move, isn't frozen into spot. That's not fair. "You're a faerie."

"Oh!" Stiles says. "That … yeah, I didn't know that at all."

She gives her sharp smile, and Derek bares his teeth. Oh, fantastic, it's a supernatural dentistry showdown that could probably rival the one with the vamps last year, and Stiles is going to stand here unable to do anything. Great. Hopefully they keep it out of the way. 

She says, "As you can see, we are busy. Please excuse us."

"No," Derek says, much to Stiles' relief. "You can't have him."

"I can if I want," she replies smoothly.

"Uh, have who? Me? Because, like I said, flattered but--"

Derek says, "He's mine."

"What?" Stiles asks just as the faerie laughs and says, "He is not."

Derek steps even closer to Stiles and slips an arm around his waist. He's still all Wolf-Man, but he's careful with his claws while still coming off as really possessive too. He smells like pine trees and freshly cut grass, and Stiles relaxes into the smell as it pushes the overpowering sweetness of flowers away.

"Um," Stiles says smartly.

"You can't have him," Derek says to her, but squeezes Stiles' waist as a signal.

"Right," Stiles says, going along with it, mostly so he doesn't have werewolf claws or faerie teeth puncturing any part of his body. He awkwardly slides his arm around Derek's shoulders -- his feet are still frozen into place, he can't shift to make the two of them fit together right, but he leans into Derek's body anyway. "See? Told you, not lonely. Not at all. All good here, perfectly all legit and stuff."

She smiles suddenly and now looks incredibly serene as opposed to rip-your-face-off angry she was getting to. "By the end of the month, I will have he who is mine." The promise fills the tense night air.

"Okay, right," Stiles says, "sure, but not me. Because, you know." He awkwardly squeezes the back of Derek's neck. " _You know_."

"You had better keep him safe and happy, Derek Hale," she warns.

Derek growls but says, "I will."

With a sly smile and a poof of annoying glitter, she's gone through the trees faster than anything Stiles has seen, though Derek doesn't follow, and Stiles can move again.

"So," Stiles says as he turns to Derek, "what the hell was _that_ all about?"

"Not entirely sure," Derek says, and he's calm enough now that he's just normal Derek. Brow still furrowed and cranky look to his face, but in a human way at least. He lets go of Stiles and starts to walk out of the woods. Stiles scrambles to keep up. With the crazy lady gone, it really is dark, and Stiles isn't the one with the night vision eyesight. He sticks close to Derek's side.

"Come on," Stiles says, "you must have some sort of idea. You knew what she was!" 

"Yeah, I've heard of them. They are very old. Like, antiquity old. There aren't many left, and they've had to adapt to the world, but they're surviving somehow. And … well."

"Well? Well _what_ , Derek, seriously. I need to know what is going on here. You gotta know what almost just happened to me."

"An idea, maybe," Derek says. He stops and looks at Stiles, and the half-moon is bright enough that Stiles can make out his features. "Completely adapting to society is hard for them, so … it's possible she's here to kidnap you for a while. Or forever. It's what they do. Have always done."

"Kidnap! But, why? For _what_ \--"

Derek raises his eyebrows once and gives Stiles an _Are you kidding me, here?_ look.

"Oh … Oh! She's my _teacher_. Teenaged fantasies aside, that's wrong. Plus, she's _old_."

"She's ancient. Literally. Their standards were different back then." He pauses for a moment. "Clearly."

"Oh, up yours." 

"Their age requirement was different. She probably needs to incorporate modern day society expectations, yeah, but she's a supernatural being that doesn't care." Stiles _knows_ Derek is just pulling this crap from their experience with the crazy vamps last year … which, actually, makes a lot of sense. Crazy old creatures need an upgrade. Derek adds thoughtfully, "To her, you should probably be married with a bunch of babies by now."

"And you'd be an old man on his death bed," Stiles shoots back. "Oh, god, I'm being stalked by a supernatural cougar!"

"Faerie, actually. Nothing to do with felines."

"Shut up, you're just trying to distract me from the almost-kidnapping," Stiles says and rolls his eyes. He swears he catches the ghost of a grin as Derek turns away. But then it hits Stiles what really just happened and he starts to go into panic mode. " _Forever_. She can't take me forever! Or even a little while. She can't have me at all."

"No, she can't." Derek pulls a look that could mean he wants to laugh his ass off, or else maybe he wants to shoot himself in the foot with the Jenkins kids' BB gun. "Because -- until we figure this out -- apparently, you're mine."

"We are each other's, don't be an asshole," Stiles retorts immediately. Then he stops to think about what he said and says, horrified, "Wait, _what_?"

When Stiles made the plan to start dating someone in senior year, this was _not_ what he had in mind.


	2. Chapter 2

"Why do you smell like Derek?"

Stiles flails as he turns around, nearly tripping on the bench in the boys locker room, and hitting lockers with his backpack. He stares at Scott. Scott stares back, but is also frowning with his nose tilted toward Stiles, and he's doing that weird sniffing thing of his. Scott needs to learn to do that more inconspicuously and not look so ridiculous while trying to _sniff_ people, which is ridiculous in itself when you think about it. _Werewolves_ , seriously.

"What? No, I don't. What? Hey, I hope it doesn't rain," Stiles says in a smooth attempt to distract Scott. It doesn't work.

"Yes, you do," Scott says as he shoves his backpack into the locker. He doesn't seem overly concerned, but also confused enough he's not going to let it up. "How come?"

They're at school for an early morning practice before classes, because Coach Finstock is really determined they'll be the champs this year, even if that means practicing _all_ the time. Including ass o'clock in the morning, and Stiles is not awake and with it enough to deal with this.

He was up way too late into the night dealing with _way_ too many thoughts. He's not ready to admit they were about Derek. Because they weren't. They were about how to not be kidnapped by a ridiculous faerie.

"I ran into him last night," Stiles finally concedes as he pulls off his shirt and grabs his practice one from his bag. 

"Okay," Scott says. "Why are you making that a big deal?"

"Deal? What deal, there's no deal," Stiles rambles. "Why are you making it a big deal?"

Scott laughs at him. "Um, I'm not, buddy. No big deal, it's not a--"

"How come you smell like Derek?" Jackson asks as he pokes his head around the bank of lockers. His nose wrinkles as he looks at Stiles. "What's going on?"

"I _don't_ ," Stiles insists. That's it, he's washing his jacket when he gets home tonight. Possibly burning it.

"Did he find you last night?" Jackson asks. 

"Why did he have to find you?" Scott asks. "What's wrong? Why didn't you tell me?"

"No -- well, yes, he did find me," Stiles corrects, "but nothing is --"

"You refused to help," Jackson points out. "So I told Derek there were rainbows."

Scott looks truly and completely lost now. "Rainbows? What do either of you have to do with rainbows--"

"There aren't rainbows!" Stiles cuts in.

Jackson adds, "And kittens."

"There weren't kittens either," Stiles says flatly. He points a finger at Jackson. "Stop being an asshat."

"Fine, whatever," Jackson says, bored. "Derek came and found me and made me explain the kittens and rainbows, which is actually glitter and flowers, and I can't believe I'm actually saying any of this. Anyway, then he actually looked ..." Jackson trails off, frowning.

"Concerned?" Stiles supplies. Which he knew, because that's what he weaseled out of Derek when Derek insisted on walking Stiles home. Right to the front door and everything. Although, of course, Derek wouldn't commit to such a word as _concerned_ for Stiles but there was a reason he burst through the woods and, admittedly, saved him. In retrospect, if Jackson hadn't of ... well, no. Stiles just doesn't want to go there.

"Yeah," Jackson says, but he shrugs and goes back to his locker to finish changing.

"Really?" Scott asks. "That stuff at your house the other day?"

"Yeah, it was supernaturally inclined, apparently. Like I tried to tell you and you thought it was nothing."

"I'm sorry," Scott says. "I should've -- I should've taken it more seriously."

"Yes, you should've," Stiles says. But Scott sounds guilty and genuine and goddamn it, Stiles can't resist those freakin' puppy dog eyes. "Don't worry about it. Derek helped me out of a jam."

Stiles wants to add, _It's no big deal, really_. But he knows his heart will give him away as lying because it _is_ a big deal. It goes a lot further than just one incident. Derek is still going to be helping him until they figure it all out, which will only make Scott cranky because he's technically Stiles' alpha, even if he doesn't _really_ act like one. All good intentions aside, sometimes their wolf halves make them all cranky anyway. Look at _Derek_ , after all.

"What sort of jam?"

"Oh, you know," Stiles says, mumbling and dropping his voice so low that no normal person would be able to hear it, "a faerie tried to kidnap me."

From across the locker room, Jackson bursts out laughing. "Only you, Stilinski." Some of the other guys shoot weird looks between Jackson and Stiles, because, come _on_ , way to not be at all subtle there, pal.

Scott blinks. "What?"

Stiles sighs. "A faerie."

Stiles is about to explain, hoping that Jackson hears correctly because he's got a habit of not paying attention to the right supernatural-type stuff and passing on bullshit, when the coach's whistle shrills loudly from the inner depth of his office. "Come on, you rugrats! Practice time."

As they're walking out to the field, Scott says, "So, you're going to tell me about this, right?"

"Oh, yeah," Stiles says. "I've put up with your supernatural problems for two years. I need someone else to wallow in my misery with me."

"Deal," Scott says, and they run onto the field.

\---

"You! You there!" Coach Finstock yells when he dismisses the team at the end of practice. Stiles can't help but glance over; at first he thinks Coach is yelling at Ms. Morrell, who is approaching the bleachers. Stiles' hands go clammy when he sees her, memory from last night assaulting him. The thing is, she looks as normal as she always has, with no weird eyes or skin or wings. Just pretty and perfectly put together. That doesn't fool Stiles, though. Stiles _knows_ now. 

But then he sees Coach stalking over to someone already on the bleachers ... to _Derek_.

"Oh god," Stiles moans. He says to himself, "What is he _doing_ here?"

"He's always here," Scott says from beside Stiles, where he'd sneaked up and is staring too. "It's kinda creepy, actually, if you think about it."

"Oh, I have," mutters Stiles.

"You!" Coach says, pointing at Derek. "You're always here. It's creepy. What do you want?"

"Oh god," Stiles says again, glancing between Scott, Coach, Ms. Morrell, and Derek. He sighs, "Crap," and hurries off towards the bleachers.

Derek doesn't look at all phased about Coach suddenly questioning him, although this is probably the first time he's stopped hovering at the far end of the field and actually came and sat down during practice. 

"What? Aren't you going to answer me?" Coach asks, standing in front of Derek with his hands on his hips. "I know you're not a student. If you were, you'd be on the team."

"Oh, Coach, hi," Stiles says, coming to a stop beside him, nearly skidding across the dewy grass and landing on Derek. Oh yeah, that would've been just _perfect_. "This is Derek."

"Great, he has a name," Coach says. "Does he have a purpose?"

"Just watching," Derek says calmly. "I didn't realise that wasn't allowed."

"Of course it's allowed," Coach says, "but _why_?"

Derek doesn't say anything. He glances at Ms. Morrell and then up at Stiles.

Coach Finstock continues, "Usually it's other students, or parents, or people who have some sort of connection to the school."

"Boyfriends," Stiles blurts out. "Well, girlfriends usually but sometimes there's boyfriends." Danny's ex used to come by once in awhile when they were still together, so it's totally happened before and still could, of course.

"Right," Coach agrees, nodding. He rubs his hands together, like he's preparing to interrogate Derek some more, like he's been waiting for Derek to stop lurking in the shadows so he could pounce on him. "And so Derek here--"

Stiles is highly aware that this is becoming a scene. Allison, Lydia and Erica have all decided to turn out and are watching from the top row of the bleachers; Erica's sitting a few feet from the other two, but no one looks like they're about to attack the other, so that's all good. Ms. Morrell is looking over with curiosity-masking-supernatural-kidnapper, and a few of the team are gathering around to check out their coach having a conniption. Not that that's new or anything, but always amusing. Unless you're directly involved, like Stiles is right now.

"Seriously, should I call the principle or the police or--"

"He's my boyfriend," Stiles blurts out. "He's here to see me." Stiles puts a light hand on Derek's shoulder, but at Derek's sharp glance he pulls it back and gives what he hopes is a convincing smile to Coach. "It's new." Derek coughs and, right, shit, Ms. Morrell-the-faerie is right there. "Ish. New- _ish_ but not completely. He's not big on public displays of affection. But that doesn't mean we're not boyfriends, because we totally are. We're -- that's -- he's just--"

Coach holds up his hands. "For the sake of my sanity, I don't care to know about all your little love lives. Believe me, it's better for us all. Fine, then, you're slightly less creepy in my book, Derek." He turns to walk away, but then leans and says into Stiles' ear, "Still a little creepy."

"Like 'em that way, Coach," Stiles says, hoping to get some sort of reaction because if he can't milk this for all its worth, where's the fun in that?

All Coach does is clap Stiles on the shoulder and says, "Not surprised, Stilinski," and that's all there is to it. Coach stalks away, but greets cheerfully, "Ms. Morrell! Good news, I hope."

"Excellent," she replies. She shoots Stiles a look -- it seems kind and encouraging, but Stiles just _knows_ there's fire and brimstone behind it. He gets chills and his palms begin to sweat. He takes a step closer to Derek, who's still sitting on the bleachers but their legs brush against each other and look, Ms. Morrell, _look_ at them be boyfriends. 

She turns away and then the teachers are gone and the tension finally releases from Stiles' shoulders. "Well," he says cheerfully, "that could've gone -- better, way way better, but it wasn't too bad, huh?"

Derek stands up. "Nope," he says. He's wearing his sunglasses, damn him, and Stiles can't really read the look in his eyes. Stiles imagines it's probably some sort of loathing or intimidation, but he's got an amused tilt to the side of his mouth so maybe not. Derek gestures. "Not done dealing yet."

"What?" Stiles asks. He turns around and then ... "Shit."

Standing in a half-moon around them are their respective packs and supernatural-knowing friends. The ladies have descended from their perch; Lydia is standing near Jackson and Danny, Erica has wedged herself between Boyd and Isaac, hands gripping a forearm of each, and Allison's linked her arm through Scott's -- as awkward as that might be with all the lacrosse equipment on, they still manage it.

Scott looks incredibly confused but is shooting Derek hard glances like he's thinking he should challenge him for picking up a member of his pack, and Isaac, Boyd, and Erica are staring at Stiles like they could rip his head off if he got any closer to their alpha. Jackson doesn't seem to care, Lydia like she can't believe Stiles got a boyfriend so hot, and Danny is looking at Stiles thoughtfully.

It's quiet for a moment, no one saying a damn thing, until Danny turns to Jackson and says, "You owe me twenty bucks."

"I know," Jackson says, "I'll get it to you in the locker room."

"Hey, wait a second," Stiles says, holding up his hands, "it's not like -- well, maybe yes, you're right, but it's this _thing_ with Derek that --"

"Hey," Danny interrupts, "remember that time you told me he was your cousin? Totally regretting that lie now, yeah?"

Everyone is absolutely quiet for a moment before Stiles says, "Oh crap, Danny," and they all break out into laughter. Except for Derek, who doesn't really do that, but he does look entirely too smug for his own good, like Stiles deserves this or something.

Stiles says to Derek, "I really hate our friends sometimes, you know?" He turns back to the rest of them. "You guys suck. All of you."

"You the most, right?" Jackson says. "I mean, that must be why Derek picked you. Mouth has got to be good for somethin--"

"Oh my god!" Scott interrupts, and looks like he wants to punch Jackson's face to shut him up. "This -- no, god no, no sex jokes about them, I can't handle it."

Stiles isn't sure if he should laugh or be offended. "Scott, you can't be surprised that I'd date a dude."

"I wouldn't be," Scott says, "except this is _Derek_."

"Hey," Derek says mildly. He doesn't sound offended, though, probably being prepared that this would shock everyone. Until they explain the real reason, and then it will surprise exactly nobody. Stiles sort of wants to make them stew in this a bit. The look on Scott's face alone is worth it.

"You used to threaten him all the time!" Scott says.

"It's true, you did," Stiles points out. He wants to see Derek explain _this_ one away.

"Yeah, but not for a really long time," Derek says. "Clearly I've changed."

Stiles pauses. "Oh," he says. "Guess that's true." While Stiles and Derek were still prone to insult each other every chance they got, it's a lot less volatile than it used to be when they first met. It feels mostly out of habit now rather than anything with real heat behind it. And while 'please' isn't big in his vocabulary when Derek comes to Stiles for research help, it also lacks threats and intimidation. Stiles hasn't really noticed that shift till now.

Oh.

"Besides," Erica says, licking her lips and then smirking. "Stiles was lying. Sort of. I think."

"Oh," Scott says.

"So shocked you missed that part?" Allison says, and kisses Scott's cheek.

"We'll explain," Derek says, "and you all have to go along with it. But stay out of our way."

"What does _that_ mean?" Isaac asks, and Stiles can see Scott bristle at it too.

"Well, we're boyfriends," Stiles says, "for a while. Kind of."

"That was true," Scott says, starting at Stiles' chest. "What you just said is true. But I don't get it. What is going on?"

"I swear, I'll explain."

"Well, as fascinating as all of this is _not_ ," Jackson says, "I'm going in. Classes start soon and I'm not going to get detention over this." He starts to head off the field, Danny close behind.

Lydia stops in front of Stiles, looks at Derek, and then back at Stiles. Cocking her head to the side, she says, "Huh."

"Lydia," Stiles says, "I am well and truly over you." He pauses for a moment. "Unless you think there's chance, and then I will dump his hairy werewolf ass in a second, I swear to god, I will treat you right."

Jackson calls out with a growl, "Lydia!"

"And he better not forget that," Stiles says.

At that, Lydia looks at Stiles with a fond little smile before turning around, her red hair whipping him in the face, and following her boyfriend off the field.

"Come on, Scott," Allison says, tugging at his arm. "You can't afford to start the year off with detentions either."

"None of us can," Stiles says, and he flaps a hand in the general direction of Derek's pack. "We're all bright and brilliant seniors who will not be getting into any trouble. Let's go."

They all just stand there, staring at him and Derek. Well, then.

"Go," Derek says, and it's only then that they finally move. Derek grabs Stiles' elbow when he starts to follow. "Not you yet. We need to talk."

"I don't have time to make out, Derek," Stiles says with mock-seriousness.

He hears Scott groan, "Oh my god," then he walks away faster, practically dragging Allison along with him. She just laughs. Derek's pack doesn't look nearly as amused, though, but soon they're gone too.

Derek only rolls his eyes, and his hand is still on Stiles elbow. He leans in close, and the smell of his cologne fills Stiles' nose. Stiles can't help but lean in a little. And, well, if anyone saw that, they wouldn't think anything other than them just being two guys getting close and personal. That … that works just fine.

"That was her, wasn't it?" Derek says. "The one the coach was talking to."

"Yeah," Stiles says immediately. As fun as it was to confuse the hell out of the packs, there is an actual serious business going on here, the reason for their little make-believe relationship that was happening. "Yeah, that was her. But, like, normal. Like she's been for years." 

"There was something off," Derek says. "She didn't smell like she did last night."

"Because she wasn't all--" Stiles flaps his arms behind him "--faeried-up. I get it."

Derek pinches the bridge of his nose. "That doesn't mean that she isn't dangerous, and she's probably keeping an eye on you. On us."

"Right," Stiles says. "Right. I'm supposed to meet her today, I'll see what I can find out."

"Stiles."

"It'll be fine," he replies, ignoring Derek's disbelieving face. "I know what I'm doing. I'll fill you in later. And I need to tell--" he waves his hand at the school "-- all them what the hell this is all about."

"Fine. But we need to keep them out of this as much as possible," Derek says, "until we know what's going on. She's dangerous, she's targeting you, and she might try to get anyone in her way _out_ of her way."

"Well, right now, that leaves you."

"And Scott won't get protective? Allison? And if my pack thinks she's going to go after me--"

"All right, all right," Stiles says, putting up his hands. "I'll tell them to have our backs by not having our backs. _That'll_ go over well. Awesome." 

Derek opens his mouth to say something and then the bell rings and Stiles' eyes go wide. " _Shit_ ," he says, "crap, crap, crap. I gotta go. I'll talk to you later. Bye, _sweetheart_."

"Not funny, Stiles," Derek calls out to him as Stiles hurries towards the school. Stiles just laughs and waves over his shoulder.

\---

There are a number of questions bombarded Stiles' way throughout the morning but he manages to duck them all. He doesn't have the proper time to get into it, not with running into Chemistry and barely beating the final bell, then ducking through the hallways to get to English, and that's difficult to do when every single one of his friends stops him at intervals to figure out what the hell is up. He practically has to shove Lydia into the janitor's closet when she questions him and Ms. Morrell is hovering around at one end of the hallway. And while that may have been a fantasy at some point in the not-so-distant past, he's not particularly interested in having to deal with the fall out of Jackson _and_ Lydia having his balls for that one. He only gets away by promising he will tell her about Derek when there's a better time, and after he gets to talk to Scott about it first. 

It's a hectic morning, avoiding his friends and avoiding detentions and avoiding faerie-kidnapping, and he finally feels like he gets a chance to breath during lunch period when he drops down into a chair at his, Scott and Allison's usual table. He hungrily shovels forkfuls of that horrible Mac-And-Cheese-With-Mystery-Meat into his mouth, and that's how busy his morning has been. He's so ravenous that he doesn't even care about the food, he's just happy to get a chance to eat.

On about the sixth forkful, he pauses with the fork halfway to his mouth. Scott and Allison are staring at him, all quiet and eerie.

"What?" Stiles asks, and takes a bite.

"Well?" Scott says. "Spill it, Stiles."

Oh. Right.

Stiles takes a look around and locates the rest of them. As usual, Boyd is at the table he claimed years ago, and while he has other friends he's made on the lacrosse team he hangs out with regularly -- because it turns out once you get to know him, he's a smart, awesome, if a somewhat mellow dude when it's not the full moon -- none of them are there. But Isaac and Erica are, as badass and cocky as they always are, sitting close together but leaning forward and all of them are obviously using their keen werewolf senses to eavesdrop in on the conversation.

Stiles looks at them and says in a completely normal voice, one that they shouldn't be able to hear but actually can, "Really, guys?"

Erica laughs and leans into Isaac's shoulder, and he runs his hands through her hair with a smirk. Boyd calmly eats his sandwich but there's a little grin there.

Stiles also finds that Jackson, Lydia, and Danny are sitting closer than they usually do. Sometimes they will come over and join Stiles, Scott, and Allison because Lydia and Allison are best friends and they get along with Danny well and are able to at least tolerate Jackson at times. Stiles isn't sure why they aren't coming over now and sitting with them to be nosy, although maybe Lydia is taking to heart what Stiles said about promising to tell once he talked to Scott. That's ... unexpected, but awesome.

Although, obviously, Jackson is a rat bastard who is listening in anyway.

"No idea what you're talking about," Stiles says innocently. He eats some more lunch.

"Come on, Stiles," Scott says, nearly whining, "I tell you everything."

"What?" Allison says.

"Against my will too," Stiles adds. "I don't need to know half the stuff you tell me--"

"Scott!" Allison hisses.

"Stiles!" Scott says.

Stiles sighs and puts down his fork. "Fine," he says, his voice so low that it distracts Allison and she leans forward to hear. There's no way that Danny and Lydia could hear, but he's sure that all the other supernatural beings take a collective breath and still themselves so that they can hear better too. "So," Stiles says, "you know when I said this morning that thing about a faerie? It's true. There's one here in Beacon Hills who decided to set her eyes on me. Not that I blame her -- who wouldn't want all up on this? -- but I'm not all that interested in being kidnapped forever, you know?"

"Totally," Scott agrees.

"All that glitter and stuff the other day? Belonged to her."

"Is she, like ... marking you?" Allison asks.

Stiles shrugs. "Maybe? I don't know the motivation behind a faeries penchant to make my stuff pretty, but let me tell you, she's ancient as shit -- seriously, like hundreds if not thousands of years old--"

"Really?" Allison says with a frown. "Ugh, old things suck."

Stiles nods along to that because, yeah, they do and Allison had a bitch of a time with the ancient vamps last year.

"She's also powerful as fuck and has small pointed teeth and wings and she shimmers and is really scary. Glitter and flowers aside, I don't doubt she could tear any one of us to shreds. Which is why Derek says you all need to stay the hell out of the way."

"What? No way," Scott says. "I'll help you figure this out--"

"No, Scott, you won't," Stiles says flatly. "She might do whatever she can to get rid of the things that stand in her way of what -- or who -- she wants. The less you know and get involved, the better."

"So that leaves Derek," Allison says. Stiles has to bite back a groan and he puts up a hand in the direction of the pack table. Even he can feel their shift into something defensive and angry at hearing their alpha might be in danger.

"Kinda? But there's more to it, so hold your freaking horses," Stiles says. At Allison's put-out look, Stiles nods to the other table. "I'm talking to them over there about to go all beta nuts. The story isn't done, all right?" He can see the others relax, but just a little. Stiles sighs. "Right, so, last night I sorta got caught in her faerie trap and Derek came and busted me out, thanks to -- and I can't believe I'm saying this -- Jackson." He points a finger of his other hand at Jackson, who is sitting there smirking, and with Stiles' other hand still held up defensively, it looks like he's trying to be a mime. At least they're all listening before they go off and hunt down some sort of ancient being and get them all kidnapped and killed.

"Jackson?" Scott asks.

"Yeah, when he told Derek about the glitter and stuff. So Derek tracked me down, and sprung me from the faerie's trap -- but only by saying he already had a claim on me."

"That you’re together," Allison says, puzzling it all out, "like ... _together_."

"Pretty much, yeah," Stiles says. He drops his arms, and then bangs his head on to the table in front of him, narrowly missing his plate of Mac-And-Cheese. "Seriously, how is this my life? Freaking faeries and Derek Hale is my boyfriend. Jesus."

Jackson laughs. Stiles turns his head so he can see their table, and Danny is looking at him with concern, and with good reason at Jackson bursting out into what seems like random laughter. Lydia is annoyed that she doesn't know what's going on. She's definitely caught on that Stiles is talking about it and that she can't hear.

"Shut up, Jackson," Stiles says quietly, but Jackson just laughs more.

Stiles turns his head to look at the other table, and they still look less than amused. He can see Isaac's lips move, and then Scott says, "Isaac wants to know if you know who it is."

Stiles considers that for a moment. He answers, "Yes," because they'd know if he lied but he doesn't say anything else.

"Who?" Scott asks immediately, not even waiting for any of the others to ask.

"Never you mind," Stiles says. "You all will be less likely to try to do something if you don't know."

"Tell us," Allison says, and there's real worry there. It both warms and breaks Stiles' heart.

He sits up and shakes his head. "As much as I'm loathed to say this -- I'm going to wait on Derek for this one, see what he thinks. We don't know anything beyond what I've just told you. We're going in blind here. If and when we find out more, and if it's helpful to tell you, we will."

Scott bristles, and Stiles understands. They always share -- but all Stiles can think about is the faerie's pointed little teeth and her creepy eyes, the way she stared down Stiles like she could and maybe would eat him alive. He will not put Scott, or any of the others, in that sort of danger. Depending on Derek is more than what Stiles wants right now as it is.

"Stiles, you need to tell me. I'm going to help you." Scott says it so firmly, pulling out the alpha-ness he much prefers to leave alone, and Stiles is tempted, so very tempted.

"You can. You all can," Stiles says. "Basically, go along with our cover story. In fact, this is the last time we will call it that, no one even once mention that it's pretend or anything, got it? Not in school, not around town, not over email or text, nothing. As far as anyone is concerned, Derek and I are dating, and it'll be better for the both of us if you just go along with that. Got it?"

Neither Scott nor Allison say anything. No one else makes a move.

"Damn it, Scott," Stiles bursts out, and has to refrain from slamming his hand down on the table. He can see Lydia and Danny look at him sharply, and if he's got their attention, then other people might be paying attention too. He drops his voice low again. "For two years, I've been running around and helping you deal with stuff -- all of you, more than once! -- and I'm more than happy to, I swear I am and I'll keep doing it. And I do need your help on this and I just told you how, so please stop asking questions I can't answer right now and just do this for me. I promise you, if we find anything out and you can help, you will be the first to know."

Scott is quite for a moment, and then sighs. "Promise?"

"Cross my heart," Stiles says. "I'll pinky swear if I need to."

"I believe you," Scott says, but sticks out his pinky and Stiles immediately shakes it with his own.

"Anyone else?" Stiles says loudly, holding up his pinky in the air and looking between the two other tables. Stiles laughs when Isaac, Erica, _and_ Boyd stick up their pinkies in the air and wiggle them in Stiles direction as confirmation that, yeah, they'll go along with it for now. Until they get what they'd consider the true word from Derek, anyway.

Jackson merely scoffs. Since she's speaking normally, Stiles can hear Lydia say, "I have no idea what is going on right now. I really hate that. You all know how much I hate that."

"It's quite possible," Danny say, not giving a care either way if he's heard, "they have a code for discussing the size of Derek's penis." That makes Stiles choke on air and Scott makes the most horrified face Stiles has ever seen him make.

Lydia holds up her own pinky. "I would've expected more."

"Oh my god," Stiles says, mortified and wanting to _die_. "Oh my god, that's it, Derek is going to kill us. All of us. Dead. We're dead."

Allison says reasonably, "If anyone can get away with it, it's Danny. It's fine."

Fine is not the word that Stiles would call any of this situation, but he waves his hand and tries to shoo Allison away.

"Allison, go tell them the whole story, for the love of god, _now_." That just ... needs to be cleared up and they can't leave it to Jackson because who know what he'd let them believe. And there's just no way he'll be able to sit in front of Lydia _or_ Danny to discuss Derek after that display. "And make them pinky swear never to talk about pinkies ever again!"

Allison laughs but gathers up her stuff and kisses Scott sweetly before going to go clear the air.

When she's gone, Scott turns to Stiles. "So, when's our first double date?"

"Oh shut up, Scott," Stiles says, rolling his eyes at Scott's grin.

\---

Stiles hovers in the hallway outside the councilor's office. The door is closed, and everything in him that is screaming self-preservation wants him to turn around and walk away. Thankfully, he's had a lot of practice ignoring that so he forces himself to stay. 

After ten minutes of imagining horrifying scenarios in which he gets carried away to some magical land made of cotton candy clouds and houses of gumdrops, and him being stuck inside a cage not able to eat _any_ of it, the door opens. A freshman student with puffy red eyes shuffles out, and Stiles gives her a soft smile. She looks away, but not before returning it.

"Mr. Stilinski."

Stiles startles. It's not the creepy, unearthly voice he heard last night; it's Ms. Morrell's normal one but it seems weird now after knowing just how weird it really _can_ be.

He forces a smile. He can't believe he's doing this. He's about to walk into the den -- okay, office -- of his would-be kidnapper. Just walk in! Like he's handing himself over. But he's got to act as normal as possible, and he's got to see what he can find out about her. He can do this, he can.

"Hi, Ms. Morrell. Um. I said I was going to drop by? About the posters and stuff." She doesn't need to know he's trying to do a bit of spying at the same time.

"Of course," she says and opens the door wider. "Come on in."

She smiles. And there are absolutely no little pointed teeth. It's disconcerting.

He shuffles into the room but doesn't take a seat right away, just glances around and tries to see if there's any diagrams of human sacrifices and stuff like that. There isn't. She rounds her desk and sits down, and raises an eyebrow. "Would you like to sit?"

"Oh, right. Sure. I can't stay long," he says in a rush as he drops into the chair tensely. He's so glad she left the door open. "But, I mean. I have to make posters and things? Or something."

"Right," she says. "For the steak dinner."

"The ... what?" Stiles asks. He wasn't paying that much attention yesterday. Or this morning. He's been distracted and now has no idea what she's talking about.

"The fundraiser?" she says, confused that he doesn't know. "Taking place in a few weeks. Well, it's kind of like a hot dog sale but we're going to have some steaks donated from the local butcher and so those tickets will cost a bit more. And there'll be potatoes and chips and soda and apparently you boys are going to be the ones BBQing for members of the community that come out. Oh, and we'll set up some entertainment too. I think there's some bands at the school?"

Oh. _Oh_. That's ... that sounds fun, actually. Like a really good idea.

"There should be corn on the cob," Stiles says. Who doesn't love corn on the cob?

She smiles. "That's an excellent idea."

"Thanks." He pauses. "So I need to make posters or something?"

"Isn't that what you volunteered for?"

"Volun-told, actually," Stiles says, but quickly adds, "though I'm happy to, really happy. I just don't know what we need."

"Flyers for around town, I guess," she says. "Listing the date and time, the price, where to buy tickets. And I guess some bigger posters too? We can talk to the art department about getting some poster paper and markers and --"

"I could design something on my computer," Stiles says, "and the office should have a printer that'll make them big enough. Or I can take them to the print shop in town, they have a huge plotter printer. Massive. Could print anything."

She blinks, and then smiles. "Right, right." She laughs. "Back when I was in school, we'd have to do the posters by hand."

Somehow, Stiles doesn't doubt that. Back in her day they had, like, stone tablets and carvings and stuff.

"Yeah, kids these days, right?" Stiles says, managing a weak chuckle. "I can do it that way, I mean of course I can. And paint and stuff. But I'm horrible at it, and it'll be chicken scratches and smudges and I'm not good at colouring inside the lines. But I could try."

"No, no, your way sounds fine," she says, and opens up her notebook. She pulls out a piece of paper and hands it to him. "This is all the information you'll need."

"Thanks," he says, and snatches it from her quickly so that he doesn't have to get too close. The paper flutters in his hand and he folds it over four times before unfolding it and smoothing it out, and then shoving it into his bag.

"Stiles," she says. He glances up and sees her looking at him. "Are you all right?"

"What? Yes, all right, fine, never better," he says quickly. He goes to stand, but she beats him to it and is around her desk again and _shutting the door_.

She faces him, her hands clasped together neatly in front of her. He smiles, but he can feel how nervous it is. "Stiles, are you sure you're all right?"

"Yes! Very all right. And, uh, I really should be using my free period to study so I'm just going to go--" He jumps up but she doesn't move, and he sinks back down slowly.

"Is this about--"

"Last night? No, of course not, nothing about last night," he rambles quickly. Oh, crap.

She tilts her head to the side. It reminds him so much of the faerie the night before, but there's nothing sharp and dangerous in her eyes. Just patient and concerned. "What happened last night?"

Stiles pauses and stares at her. "You know ... last night?"

"I'm afraid you'll have to elaborate. I can't read your mind."

And a damn good thing too. "What did you do last night?" he asks instead.

"Well, I did some marking for the French class I teach and went to the gym."

She opens her mouth to say something else, but frowns and shuts it, shaking her head.

"The gym, huh? The one in town?"

"Yes, I like it."

He nods. "Yeah. So. You were out last night ... in the woods."

"No, the gym isn't in the woods. Why would I be there?"

"Why indeed," he says, laughing shakily. There is something wrong here, and he wishes he had lie-detector senses too. Maybe she doesn't remember their little meeting in the woods. What if she's like Jackson was at the beginning and doesn't _know_ what she is. That's always such a pain in the ass to deal with.

Or maybe she's just playing with him, trying to get him to trip up.

That's ... terrifying, frankly.

"You're not going to tell me what you did last night?" she says in a completely non-threatening way. But it still feels like it. "I shared with you."

"Oh, right," he says, and shrugs. "Homework. Went for a walk. Saw Derek." All of this is very true, there is no lying at all.

"Derek. That's ... that's your boyfriend?" she asks hesitantly. She notices when he tenses up and she quickly says, "You said this morning at practice."

He nods. "Yep."

She pauses for a moment and then gently, "He's a lot older than you, isn't he?"

"Not really. Not really old. It's not like he's _ancient_ ," he says, giving her a significant look but she just blinks at him. "And I've known him for a long time, but this is new and I'm almost eighteen, it's not like I don't know what I'm getting into--"

She holds up her hands to cut him off. "Okay, Stiles. It's ok. I can see you're still trying to deal with this."

"Deal? There's nothing to deal with. It is what it is and that's just great."

"Does your dad know?"

Stiles' eyes go wide like he's a deer caught in headlights and his hand grips at the arm of the chair he's sitting in. "I haven't -- no, I haven't told him. I'm working up to it."

"Has that been hard?"

"No," Stiles says. He's not sure exactly what he would say to his dad, he just hasn't had the time to figure that out yet; he's even if he should bother him with it, because it's supposed to be over soon, though he'll probably end up finding out because gossip spreads like wildfire in this town. It's just another thing to add to the list Stiles has to lie to him about. _Great_.

"So what's the issue, then."

"The age thing. I don't have an issue with it, but he might," Stiles says. "Also, he carries a gun."

"I don't think your father would shoot anyone for dating you," says Ms. Morrell. She smiles and adds, "Although, maybe give him a stern talking to with the gun in sight."

He laughs a little, because that's probably true. Then he catches himself and looks at her sharply. "You seem to know a lot about my dad." Is that part of her game?

"What?" she asks, looking flustered. "What, no. I -- I'm sorry, I didn't mean -- oh, would you look at the time. You'll be having to head to class soon. Guess our session is over."

"I didn't realise we were supposed to be having one," Stiles says dryly. Oh, this woman is good.

"Oh, no -- sorry, slip of the tongue. And an occupational hazard, asking questions like that."

"Right," Stiles says. He's got chills now, and he just wants to get the heck out of there as fast as he can. He gets up and she smoothly gets out of his way, giving him full access to the door. He pauses and looks back at her. "You're not going to tell anyone about this, are you?"

"Who would I tell?"

"My dad."

She shakes her head. "No, no. This is just between you and me. You need to be the one to tell him, not I."

He nods. "Thanks."

When he reaches for the doorknob, he's stopped when she says, "Good luck, Stiles."

It sounds like the faerie from the night before.

"What?" He whips around and stares at her, but she looks exactly like she did ten seconds before. Everything is normal.

"Good luck. With telling your father," she says, sounding like the counselor again.

"Thanks." He swallows hard and lets himself out of the office as quick as he can.

He notices as soon as he closes the door behind him and lets go of the knob that there is _glitter_ all over his hand again.

"Creepy," he says, shuddering, and hurries away.

\---

After school, Stiles parks his jeep in front of the Hale house. The construction crew that are working on it are packing it in for the day, and he sees Derek come down the front steps. He's in jeans and a muscle shirt -- shocker, really -- and is wiping his hands off with a rag. He looks like he's been helping with the work too. 

"Hey, man," Stiles greets as he gets out of the vehicle. He looks up at the house. "Looking good."

"Yeah," Derek says, throwing the rag over his shoulder. He pulls his sunglasses down from the top of his head and glances back at the house, which is backlit by the sinking sun. "It's coming along."

Derek started renos on the decapitated house in the early summer, and it's looking really good now. Like it's on its way to being habitable again, new walls and an actual roof going up. At least he's not living in an abandoned warehouse anymore, which is something Stiles never really got, other than he guesses Derek needed somewhere the hunters didn't know about. There's a very, _very_ tentative truce with them again, especially after dealing with the vamps last year. After the dust had settled, Isaac had become an emancipated minor rather than being dumped in the system or sent away to far off relatives, and also inherited his dad's place; Derek's been staying with him to be closer to his pack, and to keep an eye on Jackson, even though it drives Jackson bonkers. But now, Stiles supposes, he's ready to have his old home back. Things are lining up so he can actually have that.

"Won't it be hard?" Stiles can't help but ask. "Coming back to live here?"

"I'm rebuilding in many ways," Derek says, "but the past will always be there."

Stiles slides up to sit on the hood of the jeep, feet finding solid purchase on the bumper. Derek comes to lean beside him, looking up at the house too.

"Gee, thanks, Yoda," Stiles says sarcastically. But, really, he's covering up how touched he is by that sentiment; he understands, he really does. "That doesn't actually answer my question."

Derek rolls his eyes, but then he shrugs. "Yeah, it'll be hard. But it was my home for a long time, and I'd like it to be again. In a good way."

"Yeah," Stiles says. "I get that."

They're quiet for a few moments and Stiles isn't really good with that sort of thing. He claps his hands together, "Okay, cupcake--"

"Stiles."

"Okay, Derek," Stiles amends, "here's the update: Ms. Morrell is creepy as hell."

"You kept your appointment with her?"

"Yes. And, as you can see, I'm still in one piece and I'm here and I'm pretty sure at no point was I taken to the land of fluffy cotton candy and gumdrops."

"I don't think that's where you'd end up."

"Yeah, but it makes me feel better than saying 'the undisclosed place of human sex-slaves and sacrifices'."

"Good point."

"Thank you!" Stiles says with a board gesture. "So, anyway, no gumdrops. And no recollection of last night, either."

Derek looks at Stiles like he's the stupidest Padawan on the planet. "You _asked_ her that?"

"Not straight out! I was stealthy. But it's like she doesn't remember ensnaring me in her supernatural cougar trap."

"It could be a trick," Derek says.

"Yeah, that's what I thought too. A trick, or like Jackson was and she just doesn't know? Or most definitely a trick. Actually, yeah, I have no idea. She was normal for most the time, but there was five seconds where she got all, you know."

"She turned faerie?"

"Sorta. Creepy voice, and her doorknob left me a parting gift of glitter." Stiles holds his hand up to look and sighs. "I think there's still some under my fingernails. How does that even happen?"

"We need to find out more," Derek says, completely unconcerned with Stiles' plight of the never-disappearing glitter. Stiles needs to figure out a way to get some of it on Derek so he can understand the suffering.

"I know," Stiles says. "I'll check the bestiary again tonight, expand my search options to something other than 'crazy-ass kidnapping teachers'."

Derek snorts. "Good. I have a couple contacts I'm trying to get a hold of. I might be able to get something useful."

"Awesome."

"Yes. And telling everyone went okay." It's not quite a question, because Stiles had texted Derek after lunch, just to prepare him for it. Stiles left out certain comments, oh my god yes he sure did, but let him know that he didn't tell them who the faerie is.

"Do you think we should tell them who it is?" Stiles asks now. "I really don't like keeping stuff from Scott. He'll probably try to get it out of us anyway, or go looking, even though he said he wouldn't." Stiles wants nothing more than to keep his friends safe, but sometimes they’re not great at keeping out of trouble anyway. And he definitely counts himself in that category, so he can’t exactly blame them either.

"We need more info first," Derek says simply.

"I know," Stiles says, sighing. "I just hate lying to him, or keeping stuff from him. Or from Allison. They're -- you know."

"I know."

"And I'm sure you don't want to keep things from your pack!" Stiles says, trying to encourage the fact they shouldn't be keeping secrets or lying. Especially not when it looks like the two packs will have to work side-by-side, or at least lend Derek and Stiles out to each other to work it out together, and it always goes so much smoother when they just _communicate_. Stiles understands having to keep secrets -- he's done it often enough, for really good reasons, and he's been doing it a long time. But it's been keeping the secrets _of_ the supernatural and it seems wrong to keep it from, you know, _the supernatural_.

Derek waves to the workers who drive away from the house, saying to Stiles, "When we come up with a plan, and if it's prudent to tell them, we will."

"Prudent, who says that?" Stiles says, adding in a wave of his own. "Okay, deal. And they promise to go along with--" he gestures between them "--this, for as long as they have to. Or whatever. We might have to keep an eye on that."

Derek doesn't say anything to that. Stiles glances over and sees Derek's profile, the muscle in his strong jaw twitching in that way it does when he's getting huffy. Oh, crap. What now? Maybe _Derek_ doesn't want to go along with this anymore and then Stiles is up the river. Not good.

Derek turns to look at Stiles, his mouth set in that thin, unamused line he's so good at. "Yes, the pack told me they were fine with it. That they--" Derek pauses a beat and Stiles inhales a sharp breath "--swear it."

"Oh my god," Stiles says, flailing his arms and sliding off the front of the jeep. He manages to keep his footing but takes a step back from Derek, his hands held up in front of himself defensively. "I didn't say it, it wasn't me, and Danny is fucking adorable so you can't be mad at him."

"So you know what I'm talking about," Derek says, arms crossed. "I don't appreciate--"

"I know and I swear I made them stop -- well, I got Allison to make them stop, they would've just laughed in my face -- well, Jackson _did_ pretty much any time he saw me after that today -- and could you maybe thank your pack for not ripping out my throat in your honour because they all really looked like they wanted to --"

"You're supposed to be my boyfriend," Derek says, and man, that sounds really weird coming from him. Sort of hot and possessive -- which, okay, what is that warm twist in Stiles' stomach? -- but also very weird. "Aren't you supposed to be the one doing that?"

"What, standing up for your honour? Okay, sure, will do. Next time, I swear, I p--"

The next thing Stiles knows, he's pressed up against the front of the jeep, and it's Derek's strong body that has him there. Derek's hands slam on the hood, on each side of Stiles and Stiles is pinned in and can't move. "Oh my god," Stiles says, his hands held up in the air like he's at gunpoint because he doesn't know where to put them.

"Never use that word again in my presence," Derek says.

"Promise, I was going to say _promise_ , not pinky, ohmygod _sorry_ ," Stiles says quickly. "And I promise, next time I will make claims about your, uh, lovely and large manhood. I'll make it sound good, I'm good at embellish--"

Derek presses closer.

"Okay," Stiles says, and he breaks into a sweat. He's not sure if he's absolutely terrified that Derek is reverting back to his intimidating ways by throwing himself bodily at Stiles, or incredibly turned on with all this, which is just … oh, fuck. Stiles gulps. "Okay, no embellishing needed."

Derek leans in closer, until he's eye-to-eye with Stiles. Or, well, sunglasses-to-eye, and Stiles can see his own wide-eyed look and slack mouth reflected back at him. "Do you need to know for real? To make sure there are no misunderstandings next time?"

"Oh my god, holy -- I -- that's not -- you don't have to -- that wasn't part of the deal," Stiles rambles quickly. Was it? He didn't think that. This is _Derek_ , for crying out loud, he can barely stand Stiles. He likes to play hero and save the day and look less like bastard when he can, that's why he saved Stiles the way he did, and in no way did Stiles think _this_ was going to happen.

Stiles stops thinking for just one moment and _looks_ , really looks at Derek. There's a small tilt to his mouth at the corner, a little smug but mostly … Stiles frowns and reaches out to push up Derek's sunglasses, and Derek doesn't stop him. Derek is trying not to blink, but there's a little twitch to the corner of his eyes --

"You asshole!" Stiles exclaims, and pushes Derek away. Derek lets it happen, taking a couple stumbling steps back. There's a quick flash of perfect pearly white teeth before he reins his smile into a smirk. Stiles scowls at him. "You -- I thought you went back to wanting to kill me!"

"No, you didn’t," Derek says, smug, but doesn’t clarify his intent.

"Oh, shut up," Stiles snaps at him, but there's not real heat behind it. He tries to catch his breath and make his heart stop pounding so fast. From _fright_ , really. "What the hell was that for?"

Derek points an accusing finger at him, saying, "Today." Stiles knows exactly what he's talking about. Derek adds, "And stop with the pet names."

"Oh, forget that, _muffin_ ," Stiles says as he straightens himself up. "It's on."

Derek rolls his eyes and turns away, starting to head to his fancy car, picking up the rag that had dropped to the ground in their little scuffle. In no way does Stiles check out his perfect firm ass, thank you very much, but with the smile on Derek's face when he stands up, Derek probably thinks he did. Jerk.

"I gotta go," Derek announces, like Stiles hasn't figured that out. "I'll talk to you later. Let me know if you find anything out."

"You too," Stiles says, " _asshole_."

He's pretty sure he hears Derek laughing as he gets in his car, but maybe it's just the wind.


	3. Chapter 3

After the big announcement, Stiles is a little surprised by how well his friends and pack acquaintances take to covering for him and Derek. Mostly, they don't bother talking about it at all, which is exactly what Stiles wants, to let this whole thing go by as unnoticed as possible. Stiles suspects Scott is nosing around a little, but for the most part, they all throw themselves into the routine of being in senior year, which is -- well, what school normally is, minus dead bodies piling up, so that part is good. Still, there's an exalted sort of feeling they all share, like this is _it_ , they're the top of the school and they're so close to getting out, and it's pretty awesome.

The Monday after the whole thing first went down, Stiles pulls into the school parking lot and finds a space for the jeep. He's completely unsurprised to see that Derek is already there; Derek usually drops Isaac off at school, and after class will pick his pack up if they need a ride and they all go off into the sunset to do whatever pack things they need to do.

Well. Best keep up with this whole pretense thing.

"Hey, man," Stiles says, going over to Derek. "You waiting for me?"

"Yep," Derek says. He's casually leaning up against the car, arms crossed loose over his chest, and those ever present shades pulled down. "How was your weekend?"

"Eh, all right," Stiles says, and leans beside Derek. If he's a little closer than he'd normally be, it doesn't seem to bother Derek. It just looks like they're two dudes who are into each other who want to talk. All good. Stiles sighs, though, and drops his voice so that no one hears them. "I didn't find a damn thing in the bestiary, though. Still. I mean, it's not all translated properly yet, but searching brought up nothing."

"Yeah, my contact says that there isn't a whole lot of useful information anymore. Origins go back so far that it sort of got lost down through the generations. There isn't many left, but old habits die hard."

"Right. She's just been lying in wait for the right moment to pounce on unsuspecting Stilinskis."

Derek cracks a small smile at that. "Oh, yes, that's exactly what she was waiting for."

"Hey, I can't blame her, we're pretty damn awesome if I do say so myself, but to be honest, I'd rather she just left us alone. I wish we knew _how_ to get her to do that."

"She hasn't done anything since that day, has she?"

Stiles shakes his head. "No. And that's good, but that doesn't mean she won't."

"Maybe she got the point and will leave you alone. Maybe we won't have to make a move."

"Yeah, hopefully, but we might still need to deal with it."

"No one actually _has_ to deal with these things anymore," Derek says, "so no one really knows how."

"Rarer than a kanima," Stiles says morosely. "That sucks."

"He did say the last info he could find was that their power was waning," Derek says. "And that they were mostly harmless and just liked to mess with people."

"Did last week look harmless to you?" Stiles asks.

"Not exactly," Derek says.

"And how old is this info?"

"A few hundred years."

"Right," Stiles says. "Excellently outdated. So what's the game plan, then?"

Derek shrugs. "Do what we've been doing." 

"Make nice five minutes a day for show? Put up with it until her self-imposed deadline passes?" Stiles suggests, and he looks around at the students and teachers that begin to flood the school. "I can deal with that."

"Good. Don't let your guard down, though. We still don't know what she's really capable of. Power fading or not, she could still have a lot of it."

"Yeah, yeah," Stiles says. "I'll let you know if anything happens."

"Good. See you later?"

"Yep," Stiles says, and heads towards the school to catch up with Scott. "See you."

See? All super easy. They got this.

Stiles continues going through his days normally -- practice, class, avoiding detention, trying to dodge faeries posing as teachers, homework, chatting with his dad when they cross paths. Stiles doesn't forget that there's something supernaturally fishy going on, but really, one weird day a week ago is nothing to what they've been dealing with in the past couple years. It should seem too easy, except that it's kind of nice for a change.

So they keep it up, their little 'relationship'. When Stiles sees Derek at the school, he goes over and stands close, says hi, all appearances and everything. It doesn't feel weird or awkward -- he's known Derek for a long time, really, it's not that hard to come up with random werewolf small talk -- and Derek makes a show of being relaxed and not at all threatening towards or annoyed with Stiles. It's nothing, really, but if people who've heard they're dating, or especially Ms. Morrell, sees them it _looks_ like they're trying to hang out, so it all works out.

The only thing Stiles hasn't done yet is tell his father. He sort of expects that at some point his father will come up to him and ask him about some rumours he's maybe heard. That's the best-case scenario. The worst-case scenario is that his dad -- the Sheriff who is very dedicated to upholding the law -- maybe takes Derek in for questioning or something like that.

"If that happens," Stiles instructs Derek one day after practice and they're loitering around on the bleachers, "just say we've been seeing each other for a little while but in absolutely no way have you laid a hand on my underage yet so, _so_ close to legality ass, and everything will be okay."

Derek … doesn't exactly look like he believes this part. "Okay?"

"Well. Okay- _ish_. No arrests or charges or whatever. I mean. Probably."

Derek pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a deep, hopefully calming breath. He probably didn't think this part through when he burst into the woods to save the Sheriff's son by claiming him as his own. Which, hey, Stiles still totally appreciates the thought but they got a little more in reality to deal with here. Possibly. Hopefully not, though.

Derek asks simply, "Why don't you just tell him exactly what you told me to say? Could avoid trouble."

Stiles bites his lip. He's trying to avoid telling his father even that much; Stiles doesn't want to get him involved, as a father or a sheriff. He doesn't want to cause him more worry or grief with having an older boyfriend because, all professional business aside, he does have a feeling there's a slight chance his father will flip his shit on behalf of his son.

Stiles glances around, makes sure that Ms. Morrell isn't any where in sight. She'd been there earlier when practice ended, probably to talk about the fundraiser and hand out tickets, but she's gone now.

"Because," Stiles starts, "this isn't a real thing, right? Why … I don't … there's no need to involve him if I don’t have to. Not yet. Hopefully not at all."

"We've got a few weeks to go. You really think he's not going to find out?"

Stiles sighs. "Yeah, my luck probably won't hold up that long. But I can try?"

Derek doesn't look like he agrees with that part of it, but he doesn't push. "Fine. But if this hits the roof with your dad, you deal with it. With _out_ getting me arrested." 

"Deal," Stiles says. "Hey, you want to buy a fundraiser ticket from me?"

"Already bought one from Isaac."

"Jerk," Stiles says mildly. "I'm the boyfriend. It should've been from me."

"Snooze, you lose," Derek says, and stands up off the bleachers. "See you tomorrow."

"Yep," Stiles says, and that ends his boyfriend commitment to Derek Hale for the day. It's not bad, not bad at all.

Everything is going fine. Just fine.

Until it's not.

\---

There's a buzzing noise that draws Stiles out of his awesome sleep. He'd been dreaming about walking through the woods at the break of dawn, birds chirping and light gently streaming through the trees. It was nice and peaceful, and not at all what he felt about the woods nowadays when awake, which is that they're scary as hell and bad things happen there. It had felt relaxing and he's not all that happy with being dragged out of it. 

He swats around his head at the buzzing noise and rolls over, burying his face further into his pillow. He moans and tries to ignore it, but finally grunts and reaches over to his nightstand, even though the buzzing has stopped. This is ridiculous. It's a morning where there isn't practice and he just wants to get some extra sleep.

He grabs his phone, cracks open an eye, and scrambles up as he throws off the covers. "Oh, shit!" Too much extra sleep. He's late, he's late, he's so freaking late for school. Class is starting _right now_ and here he is, lazing about in bed. He looks over at his alarm clock and -- and, oh crap, he forgot to turn it on. And his phone is set for _pm_ rather than _am_ and, "Shit!"

He's jumping around as he pulls on pants and his phone buzzes with another call. He answers it without looking at the screen. "Yeah?"

"Where are you?" Derek asks gruffly. 

"I'm fine, I'm at home," Stiles says, tucking his phone between his ear and neck, which isn't easy to do nowadays with these small cell phones. "I overslept. Good morning to you too, by the way."

"Scott said he texted you. I did too. And I just called."

"Oh, yeah, didn't check that yet, just woke up." Stiles picks a shirt up off the floor, lifts it to his nose and sniffs it. Good enough, he thinks with a shrug, and pulls the phone away long enough to get the shirt over his head, tugging it down. "What the hell's the problem?"

"You can't be asking me that question. Have you forgotten the kidnapping threat?"

"Of course I haven't, I just woke up and my head feels like it's full of cobwebs _but_ I get it now. Oh, sugar plum, you're _worried_ about me, aren't you? Were you afraid that I'd been dragged off into the mystical land of faeries?"

Derek doesn't dignify that with an answer, instead simply saying, "Scott waited for you outside the school and you didn't show up."

"And you know this because you were being your normal creeper self, right? It's okay, Derek, you can admit it," Stiles says as he grabs his backpack off the floor and awkwardly shoves his homework into it. "You were very concerned about your wonderful boyfriend's well being."

"You never know who is paying attention," Derek answers.

"Too true, so I just thought I'd give you a mild heart attack to add to the authenticity," Stiles says as he bounds down the stairs. His father's already gone, probably called into work much earlier than usual and left Stiles to his own defenses. That didn't really work out, but he's not going to admit that to his dad later. To Derek, he says, "We are rocking this boyfriend thing. But, really, when are you just going to admit that I'm one excellent specimen of a man and you want to tap this?"

It's pretty easy to joke with Derek like this over the phone but Derek isn't playing into it. That's no surprise. His voice is tight when he says, "Stiles, just get to school."

"Okay, okay," he says, grabbing a couple granola bars out of the cupboard. "Now that you know I'm all safe and sound, don't bother waiting. And, like, I'm probably getting detention for this so I won't see you after school. Don't worry your pretty, hairy head about me for the rest of the day. I'll see you tomorrow, bright and early and on time."

"Talk to you then," Derek says, and hangs up.

"Grumpy pants," Stiles says as he shoves his phone in his pocket. While he appreciates that Derek seems to have some sort of interest in this whole situation -- and that's probably self-preservation, because who knows what the faerie will do to Derek if he's caught lying -- the least he could do is have better manners on the phone.

Stiles isn't holding out for much.

Stiles takes a couple minutes to wash up, throw on some deodorant, and is pleased with the fact that he's ready in a record time of seven minutes, and if he speeds, he'll only be about thirty minutes late for school. Not bad. Maybe he'll skip his first class altogether, avoid dealing with Mr. Harris and if he gets away without seeing him all day, avoid detention too.

His good feeling completely disappears when he steps out the front door of the house. His father's car is gone, yeah, but the jeep is still there -- _covered_ in purple and gold glitter. And, looking out into the yard, it's seems the flowerbeds are full of flowers again.

"Crap," Stiles says.

\---

Stiles is really, really late by the time he gets to school. After sending Scott a quick text to say he slept in and he'll be late but not to worry, Stiles hoses down the jeep and quickly pulls out the flowers like they're weeds. It isn't as bad as last time and it doesn't take too long at all. He showers to get rid of all the glitter and the suspicion of maybe, just _maybe_ , something is wrong, and he hauls ass to school. He misses first period and is only a little late for the second. 

That doesn't stop the English teacher from scowling as he comes in, nor the detention he doles out, even when Stiles tries to claim car problems. Shooting Scott and Allison a quick smile -- just a 'hello, oh, look, I'm _okay_ , really, no kidnapping here' smile -- he slides into a desk. He hadn't even bothered going to his locker yet so he pulls his binder out of his backpack and opens it --

\-- and a cloud of glitter poufs out of it, spreading in the air and making him cough.

It's the weirdest morning of déjà vu he's experienced yet, and to be honest, he's had a lot of weird mornings.

There's laughter again, some sly comments, and Stiles' plasters on a smile. But Stiles feels different; it's not confusion or even embarrassment. His heart is pounding and he's _nervous_ \-- this is the first time in a week any of this has happened, and he really had thought he was in the clear and all safe -- but he does his best to play that off.

He doubts he fools Scott so he doesn't meet his eyes just yet. Their teacher draws their attention before anyone can make a real big deal about it.

"Stiles, what the hell?" is the first thing Scott says as soon as the bell goes and class is dismissed.

"I don't know, okay," he says as they walk out of the classroom.

"You told me you slept in!"

"I did," Stiles says reasonably. "But then I walked outside and--" he waves his arms around "-- I had _stuff_ all over my yard again. This is getting really old, you know, it's a pain in the ass to clean up." 

Allison asks, "And you're sure you're okay?"

"Yeah," Stiles says, shrugging. "No biggie. Really. I didn't even see her."

"You look a little weirded out," Allison says.

Well, that's probably because he is, he really is. But he doesn't want to discourage anyone and let them think that. It'll just push Allison and Scott into panic mode, and there's nothing to get all crazy about yet. He tries to play it off – he's Stiles, it's what he does best. "What? I'm not weirded out. Out of all the things that've happened, you really think _this_ is going to be my big issue? Come on. It's fine."

Scott says, "I don't think this is _fine_ , Stiles. If you would just tell us who--"

Before Stiles has a chance to interrupt and tell Scott to stop worrying, _Erica_ is the one does the interrupting. From behind them, she asks, "Have you told Derek yet?"

Stiles spins around. Ah, of course. Erica is in class with them and of _course_ she picked up on everything. Stiles pulls a face. "Uh, why would I do that? Didn't you just hear me? It's not a big deal."

She raises an eyebrow.

Stiles sighs, discontent. "Besides, you'll just do it for me, won't you?"

She smiles. "Already have."

"Do you have some freaky telepathic link or something?" Stiles turns to Scott. "You never told me about this."

Erica rolls her eyes and digs her cell phone out of her pocket. "I have a phone, genius."

"Right," Stiles says. "So what does the fearless leader say?"

Just then, his phone starts to vibrate in his pocket. Erica smirks and says, "Guess you'll find out." With that, she slinks her way down the hall and meets up with Isaac, who's at the end of it. Oh, great. No doubt everyone in the packs will know about the morning's attack of glitter in no time at all.

"What does it say?" Scott asks as Stiles thumbs at the touch screen of his phone.

"'See you after school'," Stiles says with a sigh. "Fantastic. He's probably going to, I don't know, escort me home or something stupid."

"It's not a bad idea," Scott says. "If he doesn't, I will."

Stiles looks at him, incredulous. "What? I don't need--"

"To see your boyfriend?" Allison interjects pointedly. "Sounds like a good idea."

Stiles can't help but look casually around the hallway, to find Ms. Morrell, but oh yeah, it's not like they know who it is. She's not there. Allison's just playing along, like he asked. Scott elbows him in the side. 

"Right," Stiles says, and smiles. He can do this too, wigged out or not. As much as he hates to admit it, being around Derek is probably the safe bet right now. "Yeah, I'll hang with him tonight."

"I think that's a great idea," Scott says. He adds in an encouraging smile that's just this side of _oh man, I feel so sorry for you_.

Stiles can't help by laugh. "You don't have to pretend you like it. In fact, as my best friend, you're probably not supposed to."

"Oh good," Scott says. "Because, really? Derek? You could've picked out someone less … _Derek_."

Stiles doesn't bother pointing out it hadn't quite worked out like that. He throws an arm over Scott's shoulder. "What can I say? The heart wants what the heart wants." 

Scott rolls his eyes and tugs Stiles along, and they both say goodbye to Allison as they part ways for different classes. "So weird," Scott says.

"Couldn't agree with you more, buddy," Stiles says.

\---

The good thing about detention is that it isn't detention with Mr. Harris, and it's only for half an hour. Stiles grabs a seat by the window and the teacher doesn't complain, just tells him to keep it down and that he can work on homework if he wants. Which doesn't seem like much of a detention at all, because he'd be doing it at home anyway. But he pulls out his chemistry so that he doesn't fall behind and can be ready for class tomorrow, and starts to read the next chapter. 

After about ten minutes, the back of his neck feels prickly. He doesn't know what it is, other than it feels like he's being watched. He glances around the room -- there's no one there but the teacher, who seems engrossed with his marking, red pen whipping away at the paper in front of him. Glancing out the window, most of the students have cleared the campus, except -- oh, yes, there he is. Derek's standing by his car in the near-empty parking lot.

Stiles sighs, sneaks a look at the teacher, and stealthily pulls his phone from his pocket. He's getting really good at that, and he holds it out of view while he keys in, _go home, I'm fine_.

Luckily he remembered to turn off the ringer and vibration, but he notices the immediate flashing of _We need to talk_. 

_I'll come over after_

_I'll wait_

Stiles stifles his sigh and slides the phone away, knowing it'd be useless to argue and that the longer it's out the better chance he has of getting caught. He goes back to his homework, and every time he glances out the window, he sees Derek waiting. He's like a statue, unmoving and endlessly patient. Stiles has no idea how he does it, and is almost envious of that quality. 

Finally, he's dismissed and Stiles parts with a, "Yeah, I'll be on time tomorrow. No, no there won't be a ruckus with glitter," and makes his way to his locker and then out to the parking lot.

"Get in," Derek says by way of greeting.

"No way," Stiles says, hooking a thumb over his shoulder. "I've got the jeep here."

"I'll bring you back later."

"No, that makes no sense, I'll just drive and follow you."

"Would you--"

" _Derek_ ," Stiles says, "I can drive my own car! What's going to happen? I'm fine."

Derek frowns. "You said that this morning."

"And, hey, what do you know? I was fine this morning."

"There was an attack against you."

"Oh, yes, glitter and flowers. How terrifying," Stiles says dryly. Although, he's lucky it's hours later and the fear he felt isn't belayed through his heart anymore. It's beating perfectly normal now, since everything is just peachy keen. Derek does not look any happier by this and Stiles sighs. "Look -- okay, yes, let's talk about this, but can we just go? Hey, since I'm taking my own vehicle," he says pointedly, "let's go to my house--"

"No," Derek says. "That's where it happened."

"Yeah, I know. And I'm sure it's all clear now--"

"It is," Derek interrupts again. "I checked it out--"

"-- Of course you did--"

"-- but I'd rather we not go there to talk about this. Look, just come over to our place, okay?"

Stiles nods. It's a bit of a compromise. "Sure. I'll meet you there."

Derek nods once and gets in his car. He pulls a protective stunt for a couple minutes, until Stiles is in the jeep and pulling out of his parking space, but then Derek's off like a shot, speeding along in his fancy car and quickly out of Stiles' sight.

"Good god, that dude," Stiles says, shaking his head, but drives in the direction of Isaac's place.

\---

"Hey," Isaac says with a nod when he opens the front door. 

"Oh, hey, yeah. Hi." Stiles blinks and realises just how awkward this is. He doesn't come over to the Lahey-Hale residence very often, and it's only been in dire life-and-death-oh-my-god- _vampires_ sort of way when he has. "I'm here to see Derek."

"No kidding," Isaac says with a smirk, but opens the door further. As he walks away, he says, "Come on in."

Stiles comes in and toes off his shoes, dropping his backpack to the floor. He trails after Isaac, who points through a door and says, "He's in there," but then disappears up some stairs. Stiles goes into the kitchen, where he sees Derek at the counter scooping some spaghetti out of a pot.

"Here," Derek says, handing Stiles the bowl. When Stiles doesn't take it at first, just staring at it as if it might possibly be poison -- because, really, what the hell? Derek's feeding him now? -- Derek shakes the bowl. "Aren't you hungry?"

"Starving, actually," Stiles says, taking the bowl and grabbing a fork off the counter. He slips away and sits down at the table, fiddling with the fork in his hand as he watches Derek get his own meal and then sits down too. Derek calmly starts eating, not saying anything, but stares at Stiles until he does the same.

"Jesus," Stiles says around a mouthful. He swallows. "This is awesome."

"Yep," Isaac says as he comes into the kitchen. He's changed into new clothes, clean dark jeans and a white t-shirt. "I'm the king of pasta around here."

"You made this?" Stiles asks. Isaac nods as he grabs his leather jacket off the back of the chair Derek's sitting in. "The sauce is amazing. I can't cook like this. When did you learn to cook like this?"

"A while ago. I had to get good at it," Isaac says. There's a complicated look that passes between him and Derek, and Stiles thinks he's sort of missing something here, but he doesn't push.

"Oh, well. Aren't you going to have some?" Stiles asks, and gestures at the empty seat between him and Derek.

"Maybe later," Isaac says. "Right now I have a hot date." He pauses for a second, and Derek holds up his hand as if to stop him from speaking. It doesn't work, and Isaac says, "Because that's what people who are going out _do_."

"Isaac," Derek says as if it's an argument he's already heard.

"No, really, hear me out, Stiles," Isaac says, completely ignoring Derek.

"Um," Stiles says, confused, "okay?"

"You don't have a lot of experience with dating--"

"Hey!" Stiles protests. It might be pretty true, but he's sure this isn't what he signed up to hear about when he agreed to listen to Isaac.

Derek looks like he's about to laugh, but that quickly drops away when Isaac continues, "And Derek hasn't dated in forever, seriously, so he's a little rusty."

It's Stiles' turn to smirk when Derek's brow furrows unhappily as he says, "Isaac, cut it out."

Isaac doesn't listen. "So, basically, you were attacked today--"

"Not attacked," Stiles puts in defensively, glaring at Derek, since clearly he's the one that planted that idea.

Isaac ignores him and finishes, "-- because neither of you actually know how to date, so it doesn't _look_ like you're dating, and your little faerie decided to make her move and try to put another claim on you."

"Okay, first off?" Stiles says. "We totally talk to each other every day!"

"Five minutes in the parking lot doesn't count," Isaac says.

"Um, that's five minutes in the parking lot _twice_ a day, thank you very much," Stiles says. "That's ten whole minutes of not trying to kill each other."

"Usually," Derek says, and Stiles grins at him.

Isaac asks, "How much did you see each other over the weekend?"

Stiles' mouth opens, and shuts, and opens again. Isaac looks entirely too smug, which Stiles can't blame him because it's an accomplishment to get this Stilinski speechless. Before he can come up with a comment, Isaac says, "Right. So, basically, you're both bad at dating."

"Except this isn't really dating," Stiles points out.

"But it's supposed to be," Isaac returns. "It's like we're all going along with it except _you_ two."

"Wait, no, that's … but, okay, and second?" Stiles says, trying to divert from the fact that everyone seems to be accusing him of being a bad boyfriend. Because, seriously, if this was real? He'd own it. He'd be _awesome_ , but that's not what this is. Instead, he continues, "We don't actually know if that was her plan."

"Well, I think it's a pretty good bet," Isaac says. He slips his jacket on. "I mean, you guys don't even smell like each other yet. Do you know how much Erica and I do?"

"God, no, thankfully I lack those werewolf senses, and I really don't want to know how you get to be that way," Stiles says, putting his hands up defensively. "You two pass Scott and Allison in levels of public displays for tonsil hockey, and that's saying something. Not everyone has to be like that. In fact, the world would be much better off if you weren't. Just saying, on behalf of the entire Beacon Hills High School population, stop humping your girlfriend against the lockers, all right?"

Derek ducks his head down as if he's trying to cover up a grin. He's probably had to tell them that one more than once, and he has to live with it too.

"Like several other guys and girls at school," Isaac says, "you're jealous."

"Uh, no," Stiles says. "I'm man enough to admit she'd have my balls. I like them where they are, thanks."

"And yet, you're with the Alpha," Isaac says with a smirk. "More dangerous, wouldn't you think?"

"Yeah, but not _really_."

"And like I said, that's your problem," Isaac says. "Dudes, you gotta man up, or you're going to be carried away to rainbow land."

"That's cotton candy land," Stiles clarifies, refusing to give Isaac the gratification of the very slim chance he might actually be right.

"Whatever," Isaac says, clapping a hand on Derek's shoulder as he leaves the kitchen. "Don't wait up."

So that he doesn't start spewing complaints where Isaac's wolfy ears could pick them up, Stiles shovels more food in his mouth. He waits until he hears a car pull up outside and take off with a squeal of wheels. He swallows and says, "Man, I can't believe he lectured us on that! I think he and Erica work together so well because they're both so badass and very, very physical and no one else would be able to keep up with either one of them."

"I know," Derek says, finally breaking his silence, "but he has a point."

Stiles' shoulders deflate. "I know. It's maybe a thing, right? I got glitter-bombed again because she thinks she can get me. At least she didn't, like, lure me into the woods or something."

"Do not even think about going into the woods by yourself right now," Derek says.

Stiles waves him off. He's not stupid, he _knows_. "Yeah, but what are we going to do about it?"

"Well," Derek says. He pushes his bowl away from himself, and he's managed to finish up while Stiles and Isaac were debating. "Maybe we should take his advice."

"What's that mean?"

"Let's go out."

Stiles stares at Derek for a good handful of seconds, and then blinks. "Can I finish my spaghetti first?"

"Yep," Derek says, and stands up and goes to rinse out his bowl.

Stiles eats and contemplates what going on a date means to Derek.

\---

"You know," Stiles says as he follows closely behind Derek as they sneak up on the apartment block that Ms. Morrell supposedly lives at, "I don't think this is what Isaac meant." 

"What? We're out."

"We're _stalking_."

"She was stalking first."

"Okay, good point," Stiles concedes, trying to keep himself in the shadows as much as possible. "Except that if I get caught skulking around where my teacher lives, I'll be in so much trouble. Seriously, so much. I've had restraining orders before, you know, they're impossible to keep while at school."

"They'll just think you're a horny student who's gone one step so far."

"Oh because _that's_ better -- that's not funny, Derek," Stiles says when he sees a bit of a grin on Derek's face despite the shadows they're hovering in. "Okay, so not funny. They'll put me in counseling -- oh, wait, she _is_ the councilor, that's not going to work."

"Keep it down, will you?" Derek says as they sneak around some large plotted plants at the edge of the property. Stiles is relieved they're not gold and purple. They get to the back of the building and Derek assesses the area, then points up. "There's a fire escape."

"And what are we going to do, climb it? And, what, break into her apartment?"

Derek shrugs. "We might find something."

"Oh, this is a bad idea, this is such a bad idea," Stiles says.

Derek glances at him. "You're not normally against this sort of thing."

"True," Stiles says, "I'll do whatever underhanded things I have to to keep my friends safe -- usually Scott, man does he ever need watching out for sometimes, but this is different. This is … I don't know, one brush with death too many to feel comfortable or something." He pauses for a moment. "Also, what if there's more glitter? I swear, it's worse than sand at a beach. I'm pretty sure I have some up my--"

"Don't want to hear it, Stiles."

"Nose! I was going to say nose. Anyway," Stiles says, "can we go around the front and see if we can get in that way? Maybe there's a way to sneak through the door, which isn't actually sneaking, but logical. We could make up an excuse and politely ask someone to let us in. Because there's no way I'm getting up the fire escape stairs without killing myself or at least getting tetanus, and you're not allowed to leave me down here alone."

"Says who?"

"Me," Stiles says, and grabs Derek's arm. He tugs and is a little surprised when Derek comes along without any resistance, so he lets go when he's sure Derek is following. "The front way is always the easiest but least suspecting, don't you think?"

"Stiles," Derek says, reaching out and grabbing Stiles' elbow. "Wait. There's someone coming."

"So?" Stiles says, voice dropped down to a whisper. "Motive aside, we're actually allowed to be here. There's nothing wrong with that. Except the being creepers thing, I guess."

"It's her," Derek says, and Stiles' can feel his own heart rate pick up. "She's with someone, but she's coming this way."

" _What_?" Stiles hisses. "I knew this was a bad idea, so bad, we're doomed. What's our cover?"

Derek purses his lips together in a brief moment of decision, and then tugs on Stiles' elbow again, drawing him closer.

And then Derek leans in and kisses him.

Stiles makes a surprised noise. He can't help it, he certainly wasn't expecting this. He raises his hands to Derek's chest and while he thinks it's to push Derek away, instead his traitorous fingers curl into the dark shirt Derek's wearing under his open jacket and pulls himself closer to get a better angle.

It's not that Stiles hasn't kissed before -- he has, but only a few drunken experimental kisses at parties or during stupid Spin The Bottle games way back when. This is different. He can focus on everything -- feeling Derek's fingers coming up to rest lightly on Stiles' neck while his other hand curls around Stiles' hip. The slide of Derek's warm mouth against his, and the heat of their bodies where they touch. Stiles gasps a little when Derek nips at his bottom lip before gently sucking it between his own. It's like electricity is zinging through Stiles' body, exciting and new and _yeah_ he could get used to this feeling. A lot. He tries to push closer to get more of, well, Derek and _everything_.

" _Stiles_?"

Stiles rips himself away from Derek and spins around. The sound of his heartbeat is pounding like the ocean in his ears, and it's no wonder he completely forgot that anyone was approaching them. He can't help but gape and stare. " _Dad_?"

Both Stilinskis say in unison, "What are you _doing_ here?"

Stiles' dad gets the jump on him first, glancing over Stiles' shoulder, and he is no doubt staring at Derek. "Stiles, are you going to explain yourself?"

"Uh, yeah," Stiles says. He himself is staring at Ms. Morrell, who is standing just a foot behind his father. The adrenalin that had begun rushing through him during the kiss has changed now, lacing his body with an edge of nervousness and fear. Instead of answering, he asks, "What are you doing here?"

"Stiles, don't play games with me."

Stiles can feel Derek take a step closer, the back of his hand brushing against Stiles' and it gives him a confidence boost. He glances between his father _and_ his secretly faerie guidance councilor, and says firmly, "I'm on a date."

"Hi, Sheriff," Derek says.

"A date," his dad says, as if not wanting to believe it, "with Derek Hale."

"Right," Stiles says, and he's glad he can have a moment of truth in all this mess, "so I've been meaning to have a talk with you. And don't say I'm not gay, because you're right, I'm not, I'm just -- a bit fluid with my preferences--" 

His dad holds up a hand, cutting him off. "This is not the time or place to discuss this. Home. Now."

" _Dad_ ," Stiles whines, because he figures any guy getting interrupted by his father during a make-out would do exactly that. "Come on. Can't we finish--"

"From what I've seen, _no_."

"Dad! We weren't doing anything wrong."

"You're seventeen--"

"I'm eighteen in a month!"

"Six weeks."

"Fine, six weeks," Stiles says. "We're not doing anything you would consider illegal and I swear to god what you just saw was the furthest we've ever gone or ever will go, you have my word, can we please leave and go on our date now?"

Stiles figures that he's put in a valiant effort for an upset teenager arguing at being allowed to date an older guy. At least in this situation, because he knows it's not the end of it. And as much as he didn't want this to happen, and didn't want to trick his dad, Ms. Morrell standing there gave him no other choice, and it's a pretty class-act performance, if he does say so himself. For her part, Ms. Morrell remains silent but gives Stiles an encouraging smile – whether it's because she's happy he finally told his dad, or whether she believes Stiles really should be allowed to go on his date, or whether it's the faerie playing games, Stiles really has no idea.

His dad doesn't answer the question. Instead he gives Derek a hard look. "You don't have much to say for yourself."

"No," Derek says, "but Stiles is doing a good job digging a hole for the both us."

"Hey, _thanks_ ," Stiles protests, lightly slapping the back of his hand on Derek's bicep. He swears he can almost see a smile on his father's face, though it must be really, really deep down. "How about giving your boyfriend some support here?"

" _Boyfriend_?" his dad says, and man, there's a step backwards for them. If it wasn't for Ms. Morrell placing a light hand on his dad's forearm, he probably would've moved closer and pulled his intimidating interrogation look on Derek. But, he doesn't, because the touch stops him, and he glances at her. He doesn't look happy, but he relents.

Which reminds Stiles of something. "Wait. Are _you_ two on a date?" His father isn't in uniform, and that's weird to see because he almost always is when he's out and what _is_ he doing here? Stiles is suddenly afraid the faerie is using his father or something, and his heart starts to beat faster again. He can feel Derek shift beside him, closer, and it's almost enough to ground him.

"What? Stiles, don't be ridiculous," his father says. He glances apologetically at Ms. Morrell before saying, "I gave her a ride home from a meeting, and when I pulled up one of the residents recognised me and said there were a couple strange characters lurking around." He looks pointed between Derek and Stiles, and it doesn't even matter because relief is pouring through Stiles. "I see what she means. You still haven't explained why you're _here_."

"We're going for ice cream," Derek answers before Stiles can come up with something. "Stiles parked the jeep and we were just cutting across here to get to it."

That's … brilliant, actually, because it makes sense, the little place is just around the corner from here. And Stiles' dad must recognise that as fact because he nods slowly. "You have one hour to be home, Stiles."

"Dad!"

"An hour. And we're not done here." He points a finger at Derek. "I'm watching you, Hale."

"I wouldn't expect otherwise," Derek says, not sounding intimidated at all. He does seem respectful, though Stiles knows that's not worth a lot of points right now.

"Okay, I think we can all carry on now," Ms. Morrell says, finally speaking from where she's been a keen observer. She gestures towards her apartment building. "I'm going to be going inside."

"Here, I'll walk you," Stiles' dad says. 

Stiles wants to yell out, _No, don't be alone with her!_ or do something, and it must be obvious because he feels Derek's hand press against his back. Instead, Stiles gives an exaggerated wave and chirps, "Bye!" Internally he's cringing and just wanting to get away from this whole situation, but not until he knows his dad is safe.

Cutting through to the front street, Stiles and Derek don't speak at first. Stiles figures Derek is probably keeping an ear or other senses out for what's happening with his father, for which he's grateful. They walk close together on the sidewalk towards the ice cream place, Derek's hand a steady weight on Stiles' lower back. It's only when his dad's car drives by with a honk that Derek drops his arm down and Stiles lets out a deep breath, feeling as if he's been holding it in since the kiss. 

And, holy crap, him and Derek _kissed_ and his dad caught them and the faerie was there and oh god. He totally deserves some ice cream for putting up with this crap day.

"You know, that could've gone a lot worse. A lot better, but a lot worse too," Stiles says as a generalization, because he just needs to focus on something good right now.

"That seems to be a reoccurring theme for us," Derek comments. Stiles snorts, because yeah, it is.

\---

"So I think we need to regroup," Stiles says, "and go over some things." 

Derek looks up from his sundae and frowns. "What things?"

Okay, so sitting in a brightly lit ice cream shop with Derek Hale is probably one of the more surreal experiences of Stiles' day. Everything is all vibrant blue and pink against stark white, and here's Derek, sitting with his leather jacket on, his hair dark and spiky, face covered with scruff, and he's eating ice cream. Never in Stiles' wild imagination would he have pictured this.

"About the--" Stiles' glances around. It's later in the evening, the shop is closing up soon, and it's almost empty. Still he quietly says, "Teacher. When she's -- not a teacher."

"Like what?" Derek repeats, and takes a spoonful of his ice cream.

Stiles scrubs his hand over his face. "I don't know, I'm trying to make conversation here."

"Have you ever gone more than five minutes without trying to make conversation?" Derek asks. "It's a thing people do. People like quiet. I like quiet."

"Well I don't, it makes me nervous, so get used to it. Which you really should be by now," Stiles adds. "Also, this is really weird."

"Believe it or not," Derek says dryly, pushing his spoon around in his bowl, "I often have that thought about you."

"Shut up, not me," Stiles says. " _You_."

"What about me?" Derek says, taking another spoonful.

"You're … you're Derek Hale," Stiles says. "You don't eat ice cream."

Derek's spoon stops half way to his mouth, and a little bit of ice cream drips down to the table. "My actions would suggest otherwise," he says, and then shoves the spoon in his mouth. 

There's a little bit of caramel sauce at the corner of Derek's lips. When his tongue darts out to lick it, Stiles' tongue mirrors it. Derek meets his eyes and smirks a little, and Stiles shakes his head, trying to get rid of whatever ridiculous thoughts that are creeping into his brain. 

Between kisses and ice cream, Stiles is certain that everything he thought he believed about Derek has been completely blown out of the water.

"Right, okay, so what do we know about this … thing," Stiles says, desperately wanting to move on. 

"It picks someone it wants and tries to take them," Derek says. "That's … about it."

"It's more complicated than _that_ ," Stiles says. "She's playing a game and we don't know what yet. You said you heard of them before, despite the lack of information there seems to be. I mean, you recognised it, right?"

Derek shrugs. "I've heard rumours of ancient beings and the wings gave it away. The glitter and flowers -- well, I didn't know for sure, but I knew something was up when I heard about it."

"Yeah, what _is_ that?" Stiles grumbles.

"I thought it was just for show," Derek says, and shrugs again. "Maybe Isaac has a point. Marking you or whatever. Or trying to."

"Well, that's disturbing," Stiles mutters. "Okay, so is she actually that thing -- like a shifter -- or is she, I don't know, possessed. And if she is, does the real Ms. Morrell know what's going on?"

Derek frowns. "I don't know yet."

"Yeah, we need to figure that out," Stiles says. "Would be useful in knowing what to do."

"I'm aware," Derek says. "I was trying to find out more tonight before we got derailed."

"Yeah. Right. Huh. So I guess your plan wasn't _that_ ridiculous. Maybe go by some time when you know she's at school."

"During the day?"

"You're a champion creeper, Derek, I believe in you." Stiles gives a grin when Derek glares at him, but he doesn't protest. "And … okay, that's it. That's all we know."

"Pretty much."

Stiles is quiet for a moment, and then says, "How'd you know to -- you know. Say that you and I are … _you know_. I mean, it worked, mostly. She let me go and hasn't taken me. Not yet, anyway."

"She knew what I was," Derek says, looking around casually, making sure no one was listening to their admittedly odd conversation. "I was banking on her knowing that my kind can be … possessive of what's ours, and that she didn't have the right."

"Kind of like a supernatural bro code," Stiles says. Derek rolls his eyes but doesn't disagree. Stiles nods thoughtfully. "Cool. I dig it. Although the whole, 'hey, hopefully this works but I actually have no idea' thing was a bit of a chance."

"Well, it _did_ work."

"Yeah," Stiles says softly. He waves his hand around. "So, you know … thanks. For this. And I'm sorry."

"For getting yourself into trouble?" Derek asks, and gives a silent snort. "Not the first time."

"Well, yes, but that's not what I meant. I just meant, you know, sorry that you got stuck with -- I'm sure when you did decide to start dating again, covering up for--" he gestures again, this time trying to encompass everything that he is, mostly the fact that he's a dude "--this wasn't exactly what you're looking for."

Derek's quiet for a moment, looking thoughtful, and then he says, "It's fine, Stiles."

"Yeah, but now you can't go pick up a bunch of ladies," Stiles jokes. Stiles isn't stupid, he's always known in a vague, abstract sort of way that Derek is ridiculously good-looking, just like a number of the guys Stiles happens to know. It's been more of a personality clash and pack politics that's stopped him from thinking of more. But now … yeah. He's seen Derek turn on the charm when he really wants; Derek could have anyone if he actually put in the effort, even if he was socially inept most of the time. But he _is_ eating ice cream while on a kinda-date, so that's a step forward.

"What was it you said earlier?" Derek asks, and he's staring intently at Stiles. "Something about … fluid sexual preferences?"

"Well, yeah, that's my -- holy crap," Stiles says when Derek's words sink in, a smile spreading across his face. "Derek Hale. I was starting to think you were asexual, which is totally cool, but then again, you do kiss like a -- holy _crap_ ," he stresses again, and slams down his hand on the table. "In front of my _father_ , Derek. You kissed me in front of my father. The _sheriff_."

Derek has the decency to wince, at least. "Her smell was overpowering so I didn't know it was him. I just heard a second heartbeat."

"My _father_ ," Stile says again, and points his spoon at Derek. "Remember when I said I didn't want to get him involved."

"Remember when I said you should tell him?" Derek says. "Next time, listen to my advice."

"Yeah right," Stiles mutters, even if Derek does have a point. He wonders if he should maybe broach the subject of the kiss again, but decides not to bother. It was awesome, yeah, but it's just a cover. Everything is cool, no need to make it awkward.

"He's not going to arrest me, is he?" Derek asks, breaking Stiles' internal debate. "That's always annoying."

Stiles snorts. "Nah. I'll talk to him. I think it'll be okay. I mean, he didn't make me leave you there and go home. Kind of surprised, actually."

"Yeah," Derek says slowly. He's quiet for a moment, his eyes moving slightly, as if replaying a scene in his mind.

"What?" Stiles prompts.

"She might've had something to do with that," Derek says. 

Stiles thinks back, thoughtfully sucking on his spoon before dropping it in to his sundae cup. "What, like a calming affect on him?"

Derek shrugs. "Maybe."

"Nah," Stiles says. "You'd think her goal would be to, like, separate us or whatever. Not help us go on dates."

Derek nods once. "That makes sense."

"It happens," Stiles says. He goes to stand up, picking up his garbage. "We should go, though. Calming affect or not, I'm not going to push it with my dad any more tonight."

"Good luck with that, by the way," Derek says, sounding too amused over the fact that Stiles is about to go home and talk to his father about having an older, formerly wanted-by-the-law boyfriend.

"Thanks," Stiles says dryly, "should be good times."

"Should've listened to me," Derek says again. 

For that, Stiles makes Derek listen to his Batman vs. Superman rant all the way back to the jeep. He doesn't seem to mind though, so that's cool.

\---

" _Derek Hale_?" 

Stiles winces. His father is sitting at the dinning room table going over some work. Stiles slinks in and sits down on the chair across from him, and spreads his hands out wide. "I'm as shocked as you."

"I doubt that," his dad says.

"Come on, you know I've known him for a while. And, I swear, nothing happened until recently."

"You didn't tell me," his dad says, looking at Stiles sternly.

"I wanted it to be the right time. And to make sure it was a _thing_. Which, hey, what a coincidence, that happened today. My being sure." Close enough, anyway. He and Derek agreed the pretend dating was going to have to actually include some dating. Well, sort of. Spending more time together, anyway.

"I don't like it," his father says.

"I'd be surprised if you did," Stiles says honestly. 

His father stares at him, and when Stiles doesn't go on, he prompts, "That's all you're going to say?"

Stiles shrugs. "Yeah."

"Really?"

"Well, sure," Stiles says. "I mean, I could yell and argue and make stupid threats about seeing him even if you don't let me, and that I'm almost eighteen so I'll be able to do whatever I want when that time comes anyway. And, oh, taking him into the station to question him or arrest him would be totally unfair and would make me really, really angry because we're not doing anything wrong, he isn't trying to pressure me at all or take advantage of me because, despite my age, I swear I would be able to tell when some dickface was doing that and I would totally knee him in the nads if he tried. And nothing is _happening_ anyway and, aside from the one kiss we've actually had that you very unfortunately had the displeasure of seeing, we're not _there_ and won't be for a long, _loooong_ time. I really don't want to talk about that sort of thing with you, like, ever but I swear I'm still a virgin and will remain so until I'm of age -- because, seriously, what's another six weeks? I'll be the oldest virgin in my school, thanks very much -- so no arresting is necessary." Stiles pauses for a breath for one second, and then lets out a final ramble before his father says anything. "And we can make this be a big, huge awful thing between us that we fight about for days or weeks or whatever. But I'm pretty sure that's going to accomplish exactly nothing and I'd much rather avoid all that, so believe me when I say I know what I'm doing here."

His father stares at him. "So, nothing to say, huh?"

"Nope," Stiles replies with a grin. 

"I don't like it," his father says again.

"Dad, come on. Please trust me." Stiles has been really good, and been trying so hard to keep his father's trust. The lying sucks, but it’s not nearly as bad as it has been -- or Stiles is better at covering up supernatural stuff, anyway.

The plea seems to work. A little. "It's him I don't trust."

"I swear he's trustworthy, really, I'd trust him with my life." 

The next sentence Stiles was going to say gets stuck in his throat with the realization that he actually _believes_ that now. He trusts Derek… _is_ trusting Derek. 

Stiles takes a deep breath and says, "He's not a bad guy, Dad, even if he _is_ Derek Hale. He's just had some bad stuff happen, but he's trying to move on." Stiles shrugs, and looks down as he traces a pattern over the tabletop. "I can relate."

When he looks back up, his father has his hands clasped in front of him, and his lips are pursed into a thin line. "Okay," his father says, but holds up a hand when a grin threatens to break across Stiles' face. "Trial basis. If your school work suffers, or you get into any more trouble, or I suspect _anything_ is wrong or shady with that guy, I will tell you to call it off. I _will_ pull the 'while you live under my roof' card, and it trumps everything."

"I could always run off with my boyfriend who is rebuilding his family home," Stiles muses.

His father shoots daggers with his eyes. "Stiles, don't make me take back--" 

"Okay, okay," Stiles says, holding up his hands defensively. "Badly timed joke, I get it. But, seriously, thanks."

His father sighs. "Don’t thank me yet. I reserve the right to change my mind by morning. Or any other time I want."

"I'll stay out of trouble," Stiles says. "Promise."

His father snorts, and then stands up. "I'm not sure that's even possible. But, speaking of morning, I have an early shift so I'm going to head to bed. Do expect that we'll be talking about this again."

"Sure, understandable. 'Night, Dad."

"G'night."

When his father is walking away, Stiles just happens to glance up for a second from where he's poking at some of the files on the table.

"Dad!" Stiles calls out, anxious.

His dad turns around. "Stiles, _what_?"

Stiles gulps, and that nervous feeling from earlier in the day returns. "What's on your back? There's -- there's something on your shirt."

His father reaches behind himself, and when he pulls his hand away, there's glitter all over it. "Huh." He mock-glares at Stiles. "This isn't some practical joke of yours, is it? Like that time with the--"

"Glitter? No, I told you that wasn't me," Stiles says.

"I was going to say whoopee cushion, but glitter works too."

Stiles shakes his head. "No. Not me. Is it from your meeting?"

"Meeting?"

"You know. From earlier? The one --"

"That I drove Ms. Morrell home from, right," his father says. "Entirely possible."

Stiles isn't sure he believes any of this anymore, but he doesn't know how to confront his dad about it. And given that he's just been handed some trust of his own, Stiles decides not to push. He's got to play this carefully. He manages a shaky smile. "Sure, must be it."

His dad shrugs and says good night again, and heads up the stairs.

Stiles can't stop staring at the glittery hand print right on the middle of his back.

"This isn't good," Stiles says. He pulls his cell phone out of his pocket and brings up Derek's contact. He contemplates texting or calling or something, but then resolutely puts the phone away. He'll tell him in the morning. Nothing will happen between now and then. Hopefully.

After he finishes his homework, he spends hours doing more research, and still finds nothing. Stiles goes to bed exhausted with thoughts of glittery hands and kisses on his mind.


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles and Derek date.

Sort of.

Even though they don't bother having a big discussion about it, they do take to heart the little pep talk that Isaac gave them. They don't just say hi to each other in passing any more, they start to spend time together, like real boyfriends would. It just makes sense. It's out there now, really out there, that they're supposed to be boyfriends. People know. His _dad_ knows and, to Stiles, that's everything.

Honestly, Stiles is a little freaked out by the run-in he and Derek had with his father and Ms. Morrell. Well, not the him-and-Derek-kissing part. He's surprisingly unfreaked about that. When Stiles takes a moment to think about it -- which he doesn't allow himself to indulge often, but once in a while late at night when he's alone in his room ... or sometimes in the early morning when he first wakes up ... and that once in the shower -- well, that part was nice. That's the part about dating he'd been looking forward to. 

But even with all their pretending, they don't do it again, which in one way is a little sad because Stiles liked it _but_ he gets it, he doesn't mind. This still isn't _really_ real so no need complicating it with something as awesome as make-outs. Dealing with it once this is all over would, admittedly, be pretty weird.

Having his father know about the 'dating' thing, and even the faerie (as hidden as she seems to be in the depths of poor Ms. Morrell) … well, that makes it real enough. So does the fact that his dad got glittered for some reason Stiles still isn't sure about -- nothing had happened other than his father apparently got a good, deep sleep for once. The faerie left all of them alone after that, even when Derek did end up checking out Ms. Morrell's apartment with a mid-morning break and enter. He found nothing out of the ordinary. They're at dead ends again.

But, still. This isn't some game, there is something real at stake here. Mostly, Stiles.

And so Stiles and Derek date.

Sort of.

"Hey, Boyd," Stiles says one evening after dinner when Boyd answers the door at the Lahey-Hale house. Stiles wonders idly how much longer he'll have to refer to it as that in his head; the real Hale house's construction is coming along well, and Derek mentioned the other day it'll be ready soon, probably liveable before the winter comes. Stiles isn't so sure Derek'll move out there all by himself, because he can't see Derek being willing to leave his pack -- or if he does, he'll probably drag them to move in with him.

"Hi, Stiles," Boyd greets, and opens the door further. "Come on, the game's about to start."

"Cool," Stiles says as he steps inside. He toes off his shoes and follows Boyd into the living room. Erica and Isaac are already there, a tangled mess sprawled out on the couch. Boyd takes the chair. This is becoming a familiar sight; Stiles has been over a couple times in the past week to watch a football game or a movie or whatever. Derek seems comfortable around his pack, and Stiles likes them all well enough too. It's pretty easy and stress-free as far as dating goes.

"Jackson and Danny coming over tonight?" Stiles asks. He makes shooing motions at Isaac and Erica. They both roll their eyes, but sit up so that Stiles can take the end of the couch.

"No, don't think so," Derek says as he comes out of the kitchen. Over the back of the couch, he hands Stiles the extra Coke he's carrying, and Stiles nods thanks at him. 

"Lydia has some sort of ... plans for him," Erica says with a shrug. "I think there was a mention of shopping."

Once upon a time that would have stung, just a little, to hear about Lydia and Jackson. Now, Stiles just snorts and says, "Better him than me."

"Even I can't keep up with her and shopping," Erica says.

"And believe me," Isaac says under her breath, "she likes to shop." 

Boyd laughs as Erica punches Isaac's shoulder, and Derek rolls his eyes as he wedges himself between Stiles and Erica.

Despite her apparent annoyance, she seems to have no problem curling up right into Isaac's side, giving Derek room. It's a little bit tight, but not bad. It's not the first time, so Stiles isn't tense or feeling weird about being squished up against Derek's side or having Derek throw one arm over the back of the couch, forearm brushing the back of Stiles' head. Stiles doesn't quite lean into it, not like Erica does for Isaac, but he wiggles down comfortably into the cushions and doesn't feel awkward at all.

Although, it had been weird the first time, hanging out with the pack like this. Not only the sitting really close to Derek, unsure if he should move or breathe in case he was being annoying or something -- Derek hadn't reacted in any way whatsoever, not like it was stupid or uncomfortable, other than cuffing lightly the back of Stiles' head when Stiles had felt sure enough to spout out an Alpha joke. It's just ... well, he didn't know this pack could be like this. It's not that he doesn't _know_ them, because of course he does. He's known most of them for a long time. But most of the time he's around any of them, it's at lacrosse practice, in class at school, or in dire situations where they're not sure they'll live or not. He's never just hung out with them. 

Not that he put a lot of thought to it before, but in idle passing, Stiles probably pictured them as being all wolfed out and training being werewolves and fighting and learning how to fend off supernatural beings that want to hand them their asses on a silver platter. And there is some of that, he knows, because more than once after school Derek's given Stiles' shoulder a light squeeze and said 'pack business' and taken off with them piled in the back of his car. Which, okay, fair enough.

But this? This is downright normal.

"If you don't pass me the chips right now," Erica says sweetly to Boyd, "I'll leave claw marks in your biceps so deep it'll take a good hour to heal, okay?"

"Erica," Derek says, sounding more out of obligation than any real heat, "don't threaten your pack member like that."

"It's okay," Boyd says with a shrug, and hugs the bowl of chips tighter to his chest. "It's all talk. She couldn't if she tried."

"Wanna bet?" Erica says, and she's moving super fast. But Isaac and Derek are just as fast, arms thrown out to hold her back, and Derek's eyes flash red and there's an annoyed rumble in his chest. Erica busts out her sly grin, claws suddenly popping out and making little red scratches down Isaac's forearm.

Boyd's watching the TV, eating Doritos.

Stiles huddles in the corner of the couch and blinks at them.

Okay, so maybe not _normal_. But close enough.

"Just watch the game," Derek says with a sigh, his grumpy face on as he sits back into the couch. That, at least, is something very familiar and all the better that it's not directed at Stiles. It's pretty amusing, actually, leaning forward to watch Derek glare at Erica out of the corner of his eyes, and Erica feigning innocence as she snuggles into Isaac.

It takes all of 1.7 seconds into the first commercial for Erica to go leaping across the room, headfirst into Boyd's chest, knocking over the big recliner and causing the chips to go flying into the air. Derek releases this half bark, half huff but clearly exasperated noise, unlike anything Stiles has heard before but finds oddly endearing. Isaac's grinning before he jumps into the fray, the coffee table also ending up pushed onto its side as he uses it like a springboard. 

Derek lets out a long-suffering sigh as he watches his pack scuffle across the floor in a wrestling pile of limbs. "This is why we can't have nice things," he says morosely.

Stiles laughs, sudden and delighted. Derek shoots him a grin, looking unexpectedly fond around the eyes, before he schools his face back into something neutral but stern and tells them to get the hell off the floor. 

Erica jumps up with the empty bowl in her hands, holding it up like a trophy. She uses the boys as her podium, one foot planted on Boyd's lower back and the other on Isaac's shoulder, and whoops in her triumph.

Stiles cheers her on, because that was pretty badass, and even Derek chuckles and claps his hands three times in his approval.

It's way better than what's on the TV anyway.

\---

 

"You smell like Derek," Scott says, his nose wrinkled, as he approaches Stiles at his locker. 

"Yep. We just had hot sex in the jeep," Stiles says, deadpanned. Trying to push back the blush he can feel at the back of his neck is worth it when he looks over at Scott. 

Scott opens his mouth once, shuts it, and then opens it again to say tentatively, as if he's not entirely sure and really doesn't want to know the answer, even if he must've heard the lie, "You did not."

"No, we did not," Stiles agrees. He pulls out the textbook he needs for next class and shuts his locker door. "But I do love seeing you grimace."

Scott scowls in that way that is not at all mean or threatening and is more like a cute little puppy that's having problems figuring out how to walk up a flight of stairs for the first time. "That's not funny, that's traumatising."

"That's payback," Stiles says simply, "for many things over the last couple years. I'm not done yet, so get used to it."

"That's also not enough of a distraction," Scott says, thinking it an idle threat, which it really is. He leans forward, pushing his nose against the skin right under Stiles' ear.

Stiles laughs and pushes him away. "Dude, people will get the wrong idea. What the hell?"

"It's not just your clothes," Scott says, frowning, and leans in again. "It's on your skin. Faint, but there."

"Um," Allison says from behind Scott, and Scott pulls away from Stiles to turn and beam at her. She gives them an odd look. "I love that we're all close, but what are you doing?"

"You want a go?" Stiles says, gesturing at his neck. "Even things up, no jealousy amongst pack."

"Very funny," Scott says, but then makes a surprised noise when Allison leans in and does exactly what he did.

Stiles laughs and winks at Scott over Allison's head, and Scott grins. Hey, it might not be rolling around on the living room floor breaking all the furniture over a bowl of chips, but man, Stiles loves his pack.

Allison pulls away and shrugs. "You smell like you."

"That's what I thought," Stiles says, nodding seriously. "I'm still me."

"Shut up, that's not what I was -- he smells like Derek," Scott says. "Just a little, but it's there."

"Oh," Allison says, blinking. "I guess that makes sense. They're spending time together and stuff."

"I don't like it," Scott says, scowling, and sounding a lot like Stiles' dad.

Allison pats his arm. "Well, they're dating so you'll just have to get used to it."

"Yeah, it's that thing we're doing, remember?" Stiles says, meaning their grand plans of not getting Stiles kidnapped. He ignores the warm press of feelings trying to disturb his digestion at her words, though. Probably just a bad breakfast burrito. "Besides, I was over there last night, so you know. Lingering scent or whatever."

"Over where?" Scott asks.

"Derek's. And his pack was there," Stiles says with a shrug.

"Why?" Scott hisses, leaning in. "What's wrong? What's new? You said you'd tell me -- how come they get to know and I don't."

Stiles stares at Scott. "To watch the game on TV. Geeze, Scott, alphaing out much or what?" Scott looks down at his shoes sheepishly.

Allison pats Scott's arm in sympathy. "He's getting used to sharing you with another alpha."

Stiles bites back the _I got used to sharing him with you_ and _well, I can have someone too_ , because he's over that, he really is, and it's not like it's real, so it's not going to help calm Scott by rubbing it in. Scott might not be all hard-core alpha like Derek, but it comes out once in a while, usually without Scott even meaning it. It's cool.

Stiles rolls his eyes and lightly punches Scott's arm. "Don't worry, dude, you still got me."

"You should hang out with us too," Scott says decisively. "I mean, you hang out with his pack, so you should hang out with ours."

"Seems fair," Allison says, nodding along.

"Sure," Stiles says, "let's get on that. Telling Derek about it will be so very fun, I'm sure. Bundle of laughs right there."

"Well, if he doesn't like it, he's a dick boyfriend," Scott says.

"Hey, remember when I said you don't have to like this? That didn't mean be an ass," Stiles says, feeling weirdly defensive of Derek all of a sudden because the dude is just trying to help and, wait, what the hell is this? Jesus, they all need to not take it seriously. "It's all -- you know. But I'm sure it's fine," he says quickly, holding his hands up defensively when Scott looks like he's going to say something -- either an apology or another insult regarding Derek's boyfriendness. Stiles doesn't need to hear that either. "I'll talk to him, strike up a deal. Couples do that sort of thing, right?"

"Yes," Allison says, "I play Call of Duty and Scott watches chick flicks."

"It doesn't count if you love shooting things and Scott is a sap who likes those kind of movies anyway," Stiles points out, and laughs at Scott's offended look and Allison's smug one. "But, point. So when's this thing supposed to happen, anyway? Friday? How's Friday?"

"Oh, well, we have plans on Friday," Allison starts.

Scott cuts in. "A double date with Lydia and Jackson. It would be no problem making it a triple date." He gives Stiles a stealth pleading look which Allison totally picks up on and huffs her annoyance at Scott's obvious reluctance over the whole thing. Scott says, "Board games night. The more the merrier, right?"

"Well, yeah," Allison says slowly, and she smiles. She's totally getting on board with this. Crap. "That would actually work out well."

"Good, it's settled! Come over to my place on Friday," Scott says. "My mom is working night shift, she says it's fine."

Stiles gives Scott two full, slow blinks, and then bursts out laughing. "Seriously? _Seriously_? You want me to ask Derek Hale to a board games night?"

"Striking up a deal, remember?" Allison says. "Cornerstone of relationships. You need practice with it, so just take the leap with this."

"Yeah, but we're not at the point in our relationship where I can offer sexual favours," Stiles says. "What the hell else can I trade for a board games night?"

"Oh, god," Scott says. "Shut up."

"I mean, for that, I'd have to spot him three bjs," Stiles says, taking pleasure in the way Scott's face is twisting up. "And we don't _do_ that."

"Then stop talking about it," Scott grits through his teeth.

Allison looks like she wants to burst out laughing, but at least she's calm enough to offer up a decent solution. "Well, just ask him, not as a deal or offering anything. If he seems on the fence about it, or says no -- well, we'll just mention to Lydia that you're both invited but Derek's not sure. She'll make sure he's there."

"Allison, you're a genius," Stiles says. He's not entirely sure he even wants this night to happen -- it's going to be freaking weird, but it's to calm down Scott _and_ Derek should be making a boyfriend effort too, right? Stiles nods. "No one says no to Lydia Martin."

"Not even Derek Hale?" Scott asks.

Stiles and Allison intone in unison, "Not even Derek Hale."

\---

Derek sighs like it's the end of the world as he stares up to the McCall house. "I can't believe I'm doing this."

For about the third time since Stiles picked Derek up, he bursts out laughing. "This is going to be classic, oh my god. Legendary."

Derek turns to Stiles and scowls. "It's going to end in bloodshed."

"It's _board games_ ," Stiles says. "Keep all mayhem and murder to the game pieces."

"It's me, Scott, and Jackson playing board games," Derek says seriously, and looks back at the house. "Bloodshed."

"Well, in case you haven't noticed, Allison, Lydia, and I are kick ass humans," Stiles points out, because it's totally true. "If there is any competitive supernatural assholeness, we will put you in your place so freaking fast. No bloodshed."

Derek assesses at Stiles out of the corner of his eyes. He sighs again. "Let's just get this over with."

"Legendary," Stiles repeats as he tugs on the sleeve of Derek's jacket to actually get him to start walking up to the house.

As they're going up the walk, Mrs. McCall flies out of the house in a flurry, pointing the car clicker to unlock it, muttering about being late. She sees them and smiles. "Hi, Stiles and why are you here?" she says without a breath as she bounds down the stairs. She stops in front of them and eyes Derek critically.

"Mrs. McCall, you know Derek Hale, don't you?" Stiles says as they freeze in spot. "Derek, this is Scott's mom."

"We've met a couple times," Derek says, and Stiles is curious why or how that happened. He doesn't know this story, but hey, the town isn't _that_ big, so it's bound to have happened at some point. It could've even been when all the Hale family was around, or maybe something werewolfy with Scott. "Hello again, Mrs. McCall."

Mrs. McCall crosses her arms. "Hello, yes we have, but that doesn't explain why you're here."

"Board games!" Stiles says, trying for enthusiasm. "I thought you knew?"

"A little old for this crowd, isn't he?" she says, with a frown.

"Oh, right, that," Stiles says, unable to sidestep her mama bear routine. What is it with adults not being cool with Derek? Well, more like parents, as the only adult who seems to be accepting of the whole thing is the teacher who is housing a supernatural creature who wants to steal Stiles away. "We've all known him for a while, he's cool, and a friend, and he's not _that_ much older than us, come on."

She doesn't look all that convinced.

Derek steps up behind Stiles, much like when Stiles was facing down his own dad -- for some reason, Mrs. McCall is a little bit scarier, and Stiles really likes her and almost feels worried he's about to disappoint her. Derek's hand brushes the back of Stiles', but then their fingers entwine and the next Stiles knows, they're holding hands. Mrs. McCall obviously sees it.

"Oh, and yeah, he's my boyfriend," Stiles says. "It's new, we're not doing anything inappropriate, and yes," he adds, his hands waving around as he speaks -- and when he realises he's still holding onto Derek's too he drops their arms back down the side, "my dad is aware of it, so no worries. It's all good. Can we go inside now?"

"Your dad knows?" she asks, disbelieving.

"Uh, yeah, it's not like I'd keep this from him, right?" Not for lack of trying, but whatever.

"Okay then," she says slowly, still not entirely convinced. She points a finger up at Derek's face. "Absolutely no buying alcohol for this house full of minors, got it?"

"I don't drink," Derek says, as if that's a promise. She doesn't look like she believes that, either.

"He doesn't," Stiles says, trying to reassure her. "I checked with him the other day but he said no -- not that I was asking for myself or anything, because I wasn't!" he quickly backtracks at her glare.

Okay, he totally was. Even offered a bj for it too, when he didn't have to for board games night under the threat of Lydia, but Derek didn't seem to think that was very amusing.

"Stiles," Derek says with a sigh, "sometimes silence is better."

"I've been telling him that since he was eight," Mrs. McCall says, grinning.

"What can I say, I'm predictable," Stiles says happily.

Her gaze flits between the two of them. "Not always." She startles, as if remembering something, and glances at her watch. "I've got to go, I'm going to be late for work. Be good," she adds as she brushes past them.

"Always!" Stiles calls out. "You're calling my dad anyway, aren't you?"

"You betcha," she says as she gets in her car. She closes the door and gives them a little wave before pulling out of the drive.

Stiles sighs. "Man, it'll be good when I don't have to lie to everyone I know, you know?"

Derek's still for a moment, and then smoothly detangles their fingers, which Stiles hadn't even noticed that they were still holding hands, it had felt so … well. Now that Derek's taken his hand back, Stiles feels a little guilty because he didn't mean for it be taken the wrong way. He's not even sure what way he meant it. Maybe Derek's right, sometimes silence is better. Maybe.

"I know," Derek says neutrally.

"No, wait, I didn't mean -- I mean, I did? Maybe, but it's not --"

"Hey," Scott says as he bursts out of the front door, much in the same fashion as his mother but with a bigger smile. "You guys totally got busted by my mom, huh? I forgot to tell her."

"Of course you did," Derek says flatly.

"She completely thinks he's inappropriately preying on the young," Stiles says cheerfully.

Derek closes his eyes. "Stiles."

"Which is pretty much how he got his pack, if you think about it," Stiles continues teasingly, and laughs as he dances out of the way when Derek playfully swipes at him.

"No pack talk!" Allison scolds from where she's standing on the porch. "Not tonight. It's board games night."

They hear from inside the house, "I'm on Jackson's team!"

"We know, Lydia, we know," Stiles yells back. He turns to grin at Derek, thankful their awkwardness is temporarily relieved -- for now, anyway, who knows what's gonna happen when they're forced to play _board games_. "Okay, let's go kick some ass, lovebug."

Scott wrinkles his nose. "Lovebug?"

"Yep," Stiles says, "it's what I call him after mutual handjobs."

Stiles dashes up the stairs of the porch, laughing the whole way, and is completely unabashed to hide behind Lydia from two werewolves who'd probably like to dunk his head in the toilet. It'd probably be the one time they actually team up, too.

"Stop!" Lydia says, holding out her hands. Scott and Derek skid to a stop on the wood floor in front of her, and Stiles is out of their reach. Lydia says primly, "Time for board games."

They both groan, along with Jackson from somewhere, but they're all smart enough to stop when she glares at them.

"Thank you, Lydia," Stiles says. "You're a lifesaver. No, really."

She turns a cold stare to him too. "Jackson and I will crush you all."

"Oh, it's on," Stiles says, and cracks his knuckles.

\---

Lydia's right. She and Jackson crush every single one of them during Cranium.

But Stiles has never laughed so hard as when he has to try to guess at Derek's silent acting out of Charlie Chaplin, which is atrocious and this definitely isn't Derek's thing, so he figures that's okay.

\---

While Derek, Scott, Jackson, and Lydia are busy killing things on the Xbox rather than each other, Stiles and Allison are in the kitchen grabbing some drink refills for everyone.

"This is Scott's house," Stiles points out, grabbing some Dr. Pepper, "and you're one of his guests, why are you doing this?"

"At this point, I'm as much a guest as you are," she says.

"Which means not at all so he can be a lazy bastard who asks us to do it."

"Pretty much," she says, but her grin matches Stiles because, really, there's nothing wrong with feeling so at home at the McCall's.

He picks up the tray to take to the living room when Allison blurts out, sounding nervous, "I need to talk to you."

"Yeah?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"I -- I want to talk to my dad. About your faerie problem."

Stiles nearly drops the tray and hastily puts it back down on the counter before he does. "I don't think that's a good idea." He hadn't thought much about it, but he's both shocked and pleased she hasn't said anything to her dad yet. But the fact she wants to makes him wary.

"Come on, Stiles," she says, gently, as if approaching a spooked animal. "He knows stuff. He has a lot of resources."

"Well, why don't you sneakily check them out?" Stiles suggests. "That would be totally cool. Well, not _cool_ , but you know what I mean."

"Um, actually? I already have," she says, a bit sheepishly. He can't help but beam proudly at her; Stiles himself is known to poke around in his father's paperwork for information he might need, and the Argents sure do have a lot of supernatural information. She smiles back, but it fades quickly. "I couldn't find anything in the bestiary--"

"Me neither," Stiles says unhappily.

"-- or any of the other files or books," she continues. 

"So why bother bringing it up, then, if he has nothing to help."

" _Because_ ," she says, "he knows people. He has resources. He might be able to--"

Stiles holds up his hand and cuts her off. "Well, so does Derek, and there isn't a lot of information to be had, and we pretty much have it all."

"I doubt that. I mean, someone has to know something," she says. "What's the harm in trying different sources?"

"The harm is that your father has tried to hunt down both our boyfriends," Stiles says. "Have you forgotten that?"

Allison frowns. "That's not fair, he hasn't in a really long time. Plus, he lives by a code and there's a truce now and this could actually _help_. Even Scott thinks so."

"Oh does he, now? So you've talked about it. Gee, thanks for including me."

"Don't be like that, I'm including you now," Allison says. "Look, we want to help too, okay, you're our pack and we're worried. You guys need to let us help."

Stiles sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. This is a delicate situation they've got here, and the packs are getting along and the hunters aren't trying to track any of them down right now, but asking for help isn't as easy as Allison makes it sound. 

All he can think about is how much Derek would hate to have to rely on an Argent's help. Derek is going out of his way to help Stiles, that'd be a really crappy way to repay him, if he doesn't want it.

When he doesn't say anything, Allison says gently, "You could at least mention it to Derek," as if she's reading his mind.

"Like I need to," Stiles says. "Real smooth, there, mentioning it when there are three pairs of supernatural ears listening in right this second."

She shrugs but looks apologetic. "I thought it might break the ice or whatever."

"Or corner him into saying yes, which I doubt is going to work," Stiles says, "but we'll talk about it. Deal?"

"Deal."

"And you won't mention anything to your dad until I get back to you?"

"I haven't, and I won't," she says firmly.

He smiles at her. "Thanks. I appreciate it -- no, seriously," he says when she pulls a face, "I get it's, like, hard to keep stuff from a dad. And we've got a, uh, interesting situation here."

"Hey, we all got to look out for each other, right? It's what pack and family are for."

"Don't think I don't get your meaning there," Stiles says, rolling his eyes at her less-than-subtle hint. "I said we'll talk about it."

She laughs. "Had to try."

They're interrupted by Lydia poking her head into the kitchen. "Jackson and I are going."

"What?" Allison says, and goes into the foyer where Lydia has again slipped away. Jackson is standing at the door, and he's got a guarded expression on his face. Looking around, Stiles sees that Scott and Derek do too. Stiles sighs. He knew they were listening.

"Yeah, things just got really tense about a minute ago?" Lydia explains, shrugging. "I don't know, I had a good night so I'm calling it an end now before they get all, you know." She scrunches her fingers in the air, her new universal sign for wolfed-and/or-kanima'd out. 

"Yeah, we should probably go too," Stiles says.

"No, wait, Stiles," Allison says, sounding guilty.

Stiles tries to keep it light. "No worries, it's just my dad knows I'm out with Derek, he gets twitchy if I get home too late."

Lydia turns to Stiles, "We're going to my place so we're not giving your boyfriend a ride home, or we'd offer."

"No we wouldn't," Jackson says from behind her. "Derek's dating him so he gets to ride around in that awful jeep."

"Jackson," Lydia hisses, swatting him lightly, as Stiles protests, "Hey!"

"Don't worry, I wouldn't dare impose," Derek says, shaking his head.

"Oh, good," is all Lydia says as she leans in and kisses Allison's cheek, and then she and Jackson are out the door in a whirl of red hair and perfume and ridiculous designer jeans.

Stiles exaggeratedly kisses Allison's cheek too and fist-bumps with Scott, and says, "Thanks, guys. Talk to you later." Derek nods at them, but Stiles grabs his arm and practically drags him from the house before anyone gets into any sort of conversation. He doesn't want this night to end on that either.

Although it's all of thirty seconds in the jeep, sitting in silence, before Derek says, "I don't want a hunter's help."

Stiles sighs. "I knew you would say that."

"No good will come of it."

"They're just trying to look out for me," Stiles says.

"We all are, in case you've missed it," Derek says. 

"I haven't," Stiles allows. He's not stupid, he knows that both packs, and even Jackson, Danny, and Lydia are keeping an eye on him, even if no one is making any real moves, just like Stiles and Derek asked. Not until Allison brought it up today, anyway.

"We have it under control," Derek points out.

"Do we? We're just sort of hanging out and waiting," Stiles says.

"That's all she wants."

"Not going to lie, I'm surprised at you right now. Shocked. Surprised _and_ shocked."

He glances over and sees Derek staring at him. Derek says, "Why?"

"You're usually all claws first, sometimes ask questions later. But usually not. Mostly, it's just claws."

Derek's quiet for a moment before he says, "I'm learning from past mistakes."

"Okay, did you just admit to making mistakes?" Stiles asks, amused when Derek huffs. "The great and powerful Alpha Derek Hale has made _mistakes_ and he _knows_ and oh my god, I think it's Christmas come early. No, wait, my birthday is before Christmas. Is it my birthday?"

"Shut up, Stiles," Derek grumbles at him.

Stiles grins and turns down the street the Lahey house is on. "Patience _is_ a virtue. I don't know, so I hear, I'm not very good for it but I bet it's helpful in your case, Mr. Alpha. But are you sure that's the right decision right now?"

"Yes," Derek says firmly.

"Okay, fine," Stiles says. He drives past Jackson's place and pulls into Isaac's driveway. He puts the car in park, and turns to face Derek. "Let's make a deal."

Derek eyes him. "Deal?"

"Yes, I had to make one with Allison, so this is an extension of that. If anything else funny -- and by funny, I mean scary as hell -- happens with our little faerie, or her deadline comes and goes and she's still hanging around, we talk to Mr. Argent."

"No."

"Derek, come on," Stiles says, throwing his hands up in the air. "I have a pack to answer to just as much as you do. You probably don't think it's real or whatever because of all the humans--"

"I never said that," Derek says, frowning. "Don't put words in my mouth."

Stiles purses his lips. "Fine. I'm sorry. But you're not the only one who gets to make decisions here, and I've been going along with, and respecting in case _you_ haven't noticed, what you've thought we should do. But my opinion counts too, and I'm of the opinion I'm fine without any hunter's help because I know it bothers you so much _unless_ things go even more south and we're desperate for more solid information. In that case, I think we should explore all options for resources, and that means Chris Argent if we have to. See? See how reasonable I'm being? Now, do we have a deal?"

Derek's shoulders rise and fall as if Stiles' deal is the heaviest consideration he's ever had to make. But he finally says, "Fine. Deal."

Stiles has to stop himself from making a crowing noise of victory because, hell yes, he just got through to Derek for a change. That doesn't stop the wide grin he has as he says, "Okay, cool."

Derek rolls his eyes and opens the door, getting out. "I'll talk to you later, Stiles."

"Okay, so I'll see you ...?"

Derek ducks down to look into the jeep. "I'm busy at the Hale house all weekend."

"Cool," Stiles says. "Monday?"

Derek nods and goes to close the door before Stiles stops him with a, "Oh, hey, Derek?" Derek leans down again. Stiles grins and shrugs, saying, "You know. Thanks for tonight. Coming over to Scott's, I mean. I get it's probably not your favourite way to spend a Friday night."

"If you ever ask me to play board games again, I will personally hand you over to the faerie myself," Derek says, deadpanned, but Stiles would swear he sees a small smile on Derek's face when he closes the door. 

"Legendary," he yells through the door, and Derek just waves over his shoulder as he walks up to the house.

\---

Sunday late morning finds Stiles sitting at the kitchen table, absently munching on a piece of toast with his English homework spread out all over the table while he tries to muster up a good idea for the Shakespeare project that's coming up.

"See you later, Stiles," his father calls from the front door.

"Dad? You going out?"

His dad pops his head in. "Yeah, a brunch thing."

Stiles raises an eyebrow as he takes in his father's grey slacks and soft black sweater. "Are you going on a _date_?" Stiles grins. "You're totally going on a date!"

"No," his father says immediately. "Why would you think that?"

"I can't remember the last time you wore something that wasn't your uniform or a pair of jeans, that's all." Stiles tilts his head to the side. "You should totally save those for the next time you take out a nice lady, you stud."

"I'll keep that in mind," his father says dryly. 

A dozen things run through Stiles' head, things he's thought about but never said out loud; like how he wishes his dad could move on, find someone, that he doesn't mind if his dad dates and hopes Stiles isn't holding him back, for him to love and be loved again. He just wants his dad to be _happy_ , and not merely content with getting by in life, stuck only with a son that'll be going off to college soon enough. He doesn't want his dad alone or lonely.

But he's not going to push it. It'd be a weird conversation, even if this would be the perfect time to bring it up.

Instead, he says, "Where you going?"

"That new vegetarian place by the hardware store."

Stiles drops his piece of toast and it lands on the plate in a scatter of crumbs. " _What_?"

"Believe me, I didn't pick it," his dad says, sighing.

"Take a picture," Stiles says.

"What?"

"Of what you order. Take a picture for posterity. You're going to be willingly –"

"--somewhat willingly--"

"Somewhat willingly eating healthy food!" Stiles beams. "I'm proud of you. Send me a picture with your phone."

His dad rolls his eyes but doesn't say he won't send a picture. "What're your plans today?" 

Stiles glances at the clock. "Going to pick up Scott soon, go to the field and practice a bit."

"Don't you get enough practice at school?"

"No rest for the soon to be champions," Stiles says solemnly, and his dad smiles.

Then his father takes a deep breath and is obviously trying to keep it light when he says, "Not seeing Derek?"

Stiles shakes his head. "Nah, he's working on the house today."

"You could help," his father suggests reluctantly.

Stiles laughs. "No, I couldn't. I tried that earlier this week and the contractors got all squirrely. Something about safety measures and hard hats and steel toed boots or something. Or so Derek says. Mostly I think he's just trying to keep me out of his way. He seems very focused on that house."

"I think it's good for him," his dad offers, surprising Stiles with it. "That was a terrible thing that happened there. It was a beautiful house, and always so full of family. Well," his dad says, clearing his throat and continuing on before Stiles can ask any questions, "I should go or I'll be late. Oh, and I'll probably being going down to the station for a bit, so see you for dinner?"

"Yep, I'll be here," Stiles says. "See you later, Dad. Have a good day."

"You too, son."

\--

Having Scott in goal is both annoying and helpful; annoying in that Stiles rarely gets the ball past him, but helpful in that it pushes Stiles to get faster and faster in his efforts to. It's made him improve over the years, practicing against werewolves and kanimas, and boosts his confidence when he plays against other normal dudes like himself.

Though, still, sometimes his patience with being cool with it wears thin. Especially when he hasn't gotten a single goal in the past 17 shots against Scott.

"Okay, break time!" Stiles calls out, rolling his eyes as Scott effortlessly jogs over. They walk over to the jeep.

"What? You were doing good," Scott says. 

"Sure," Stiles says. "I'm calling Danny next time. He still kicks my ass but at least I'm a little bit closer, you know?"

"Pity party for one," Scott says, and grins at Stiles' scowl. "Give it up, Stilinski, you know you're awesome."

Stiles rolls his head side to side, but grins back. "As if there's any doubt."

Scott pulls open the backdoor to the jeep and grabs a couple bottles of water, throwing one at Stiles. Stiles easily catches it, uncaps it, and is taking a big swig when he hears his cell phone going off. As casual as their Sunday afternoon practices are -- an empty field, Stiles just trying to get one goal past Scott, no pads or other equipment -- Stiles has learned from experience. Keep all cell phones away from the lacrosse field with werewolves. Or normal dudes. Or, like, _air_. It always goes wrong.

Stiles grabs it from the front seat and scrolls to his incoming SMS. It's from Derek.

_where are u?_

Stiles frowns and replies, _at school. lacrosse. we weren't supposed to meet?_

There's an instant reply: _wait for me there_

_ok_

"Um, okay," Stiles says out loud. "So, uh, apparently Derek's on his way here."

"What, no!" Scott says, and Stiles isn't at all surprised. He knows what's coming next. "You don't let me invite Allison, you say it's bonding time for bros. If I can't have my girlfriend, you can't have your boyfriend."

It's a thing Stiles instituted when Scott first got together with Allison and Stiles didn't want to be a third wheel all the time, and he didn't want to give up hanging with Scott either. Scott seemed reluctant at first, which is understandable given his puppy love and stuff for Allison, but it grew on him and now he's fiercely protective of it. 

"Dude, you know we're not -- you know," Stiles says, waving a hand around. "And this is _Derek_ , I'm sure there's a purpose or reason or whatever. A supernaturally inclined one. He wouldn't just show up out of the blue."

"He could. You've been hanging out with him," Scott points out. "It's a thing you do now, just like you said. And you can do it on non-bro time."

"Come on, Scott, you're being ridiculous."

"I'm not blind, you know. And I can pick up on stuff as easily as the next person. We all see it."

Stiles is man enough to admit that it's him that's the confused one right now. "I don't -- what are you even talking about?"

Scott stares at him, all _dude, come on_ disbelief to his face. Stiles makes the face back.

And then Scott smiles but looks entirely too pleased with himself, like he's got one up on Stiles. "You know what, forget it," Scott says, not unkindly. He shakes his head and grins. "Let's just go shoot some more before he gets here, okay? This is your one freebie."

"Yeah, well, I don't think you have to worry about that much longer, remember?" Stiles points out as they pick up their lacrosse sticks and walk back to the field.

"Sure," Scott says, but doesn't elaborate.

They're only back out there for a couple of minutes when Stiles shoots and the ball goes right past Scott into the net. Stiles whoops in triumph, because that rarely happens, but he pauses mid fist-pump when he sees that Scott is standing still, completely and totally still, looking out into the forest.

"Scott?" Stiles asks, following his gaze. "What's wrong?"

Right then, something bursts out of the forest -- no, not something, some _one_.

"Oh," Stiles says, and he can't stop the grin spreading across his face. "It's Derek."

His smile quickly drops in confusion as Scott growls and when Stiles glances over, sees him all wolfed out. Looking back to the tree line, he sees Derek is moving fast, dropped down onto all fours, and is also wolfed out.

Scott mimics the pose, and rushes towards Derek.

"Oh, crap," Stiles says, running after Scott. "Come on," he calls out, "it's just this once! You said it was fine! Hey, wait, what're you--- Hey!" Stiles has to yell loudly as Scott and Derek snarl and both jump into the air, colliding into each other. Derek had more force so Scott's the one that ends up with being slammed to the ground and making an anguished noise.

"Derek, cut it out!" Stiles yells, running towards them. He belatedly thinks that maybe getting too close to fighting werewolves isn't the best of ideas, but he's got his lacrosse stick with him so if he has to use it somehow, he will. He doesn't actually fear either of them, he just doesn't know what's going on.

Scott's trying to fight Derek, claws swiping and grabbing at his leg when he's pushed down _again_. Stiles hasn't seen Scott fight this poorly in a long time, or maybe it's just that Derek's fighting so well with a single minded purpose, because he doesn't waste much time on Scott at all -- instead, he's making a move towards Stiles.

"Oh, shit," Stiles breathes out, and tries to take a fighting stance. "What the hell, Derek?" He sees Scott scramble up to his feet to chase after Derek, but Derek's right _there_ , right in front of Stiles, easily deflecting the swing of his stick and then --

\-- and then he's sort of, well. _Hugging_ isn't the right word, it's not soft or comforting, but Derek's got his arms around Stiles possessively, not doing anything to hurt him at all.

"Uh," Stiles says. He tries to wiggle out of Derek's grip, but it only makes Derek crush Stiles even closer to him. "Okay," Stiles says agreeably, "we'll just stand like this for a minute."

"Stiles?" Scott says questionably, and Stiles glances over Derek's shoulder to see Scott looking at them with a frown.

"I have no idea," he says honestly. Derek huffs against the side of Stiles' head, but doesn't say anything.

Scott is looking specifically at Derek's back. "His jacket," he says. "It's got -- well, something sparkly on it. That's -- not exactly his style."

"Oh, shit," Stiles says. He doesn't even have to see it to know what's going on, but he puts his hand on Derek's back -- Derek makes a pleased little noise, as if he likes that, and squeezes Stiles even closer -- but Stiles rubs his hand over Derek's spine and holds it out.

There's purple and gold glitter all over it.

"Well, okay, this is starting to make a little more sense," Stiles say. But not really -- he doesn't know exactly why Derek's suddenly turned into a clingy possessive alpha-boyfriend but he does know they can blame the faerie for it. Stiles says to Derek, "You saw her today, didn't you?"

Derek nods. He's still wolfed-out, hairy muttonchops tickling the side of Stiles' head. His claws poke at Stiles' back, but not enough to hurt, just a reminder of the power and strength Derek has that he's got Stiles enveloped in.

"Okay," Stiles says, not afraid for his safety but vaguely concerned over the whole thing. He tries to prompt more out of Derek when he's not exactly forthcoming. "What happened? Did you talk? What did she do?"

"Talked briefly," Derek says, his voice low and gravelly. "And then ... then I was worried."

"Worried?"

"About you. Where you were."

"All right," Stiles says, patting Derek awkwardly on the back. He can feel the grainy glitter under his palm, and he stifles back a sigh; it's going to get everywhere. "Well, I'm fine and I'm right here, as you can see, you don't need to worry about Scott or whatever."

"I'm not," Derek says, "or I wouldn't have my back to him."

"Good point," Stiles says just as Scott protests, "You attacked us!"

Of course, this is when Derek lets go of Stiles, whipping around to face Scott and growling again. But he puts half his body in front of Stiles, arm flung out, as if he's trying to protect Stiles from _Scott_ , of all the werewolves. Derek spits out, "You attacked _me_."

"You were running at us!"

"I was trying to get to Stiles and you were in the way!"

"That doesn't mean you have to be all--"

Stiles manages to push past Derek and gets between them. "Enough!" Derek is on edge with that, looks like he wants to get Stiles out of his way so that he can attack Scott. Stiles reacts rather than thinks it through by reaching out and putting a hand on Derek's chest; that seems to calm him enough that he doesn't move, though his red eyes glower at Scott. Stiles also holds up a hand at Scott in a stop gesture; Scott is still in his werewolf face too, crouched a bit and looking like he's ready to attack, but he doesn't.

"Okay, so, this is awkward," Stiles says, "but I am fine and nothing is wrong and neither of you are trying to hurt me so I absolutely do not need either of you to protect me, for crying out loud. Put the wolves away." He pauses a moment and neither of them do anything. "Now! Go on, let's think with human brains instead of animal instincts for a minute, okay? Jesus."

It takes a couple moments for them to calm down enough -- or else they're playing some sort of weird werewolf version of Chicken to see who will go human first -- but they finally put the faces and claws away. 

"All right. Thank you," Stiles says. He lets his hand drop from Derek's chest; Derek takes a step closer so he's crowded next to Stiles, pressed up against Stiles' shoulder and half his back. Stiles lets it go, but Scott snorts.

"What?" Derek says sharply.

"You -- just -- I never pegged you as the jealous dick boyfriend type, I guess," Scott says with a shrug.

"Really? I always thought that's what he'd be," Stiles says.

Derek says, right next to Stiles' ear, "Thought about it a lot, did you?" 

Scott snorts again and Stiles elbows Derek in the ribs. "Shut up, that's not what I meant," Stiles mutters. Louder, he says, "Okay, so. Um. Scott, I think our bro time is over for the day."

"No way," Scott says. "I'm not leaving you with him."

"What do you think I'm going to do?" Derek snaps. "I'm not going to hurt him."

Scott tilts his head to the side. "You think that you won't, but you're not in your right mind, are you?"

"Yes, I am," Derek grits out. 

Stiles exchanges a look with Scott. No, Derek's not exactly acting like himself, but the only thing Stiles is worried about is if the two of them stay in each other's vicinity. Stiles isn't scared of Derek right now at all. It feels the exact opposite, that Derek's trying to look out for him. In an extreme way, yes, but not really _bad_.

"Scott, he's not going to hurt me. I'll be fine. We -- we need to work stuff out, anyway, about this whole--" He waves his hand that still has glitter on it around as evidence. "It's fine. Go see Allison or something, okay?"

Scott points at Derek, eyebrows raised. "This is your one freebie. Significant others aren't  
allowed to interrupt bro time. It's a thing."

"He's not--" Stiles thinks again, maybe not going to push it right now by saying Derek's not his ... whatever. "He's not going to, he knows now, okay? Special circumstances, man."

"Fine," Scott says. "You better text me later."

"Promise," Stiles says. Derek is literally breathing down his neck here. "Later, dude."

Scott turns away, but by his profile he is clearly frowning, and then turns back. "You gave me a ride."

"Werewolf," Derek says. "You can run fast."

Scott sighs, but jogs to the edge of the woods, pretty much where Derek had come from. Stiles knows he's gone all werewolf not only when he drops down on all fours, but because Derek tenses beside him for a moment. He finally relaxes when Scott is out of sight.

"His smell is all over you," Derek says.

"Because he's my best friend and my alpha," Stiles says reasonably.

"I know," he replies with a sigh.

Stiles takes a step away from Derek, but as a cautionary tactic, takes Derek's hand in his at the same time. Derek twines their fingers together. Now that Scott is gone, Derek looks less on guard, softer in the face.

"You are going to be so freaking cranky about this when it wears off, aren't you?" Stiles asks.

"Yes," Derek says, and squeezes his hand. 

"Great, can't wait," Stiles replies. "So, we should go somewhere, talk about this."

"Your place?" Derek suggests. 

"Good idea," Stiles answers, because there's less of a chance there'll be supernatural hearing eavesdropping on them. Probably.

They walk to the jeep hand in hand, though Derek picks up Stiles' lacrosse stick for him on the way.

\---

When Stiles pulls the jeep up to his house, he's a little relieved to see that his father's car is still gone and that he must be down at the station doing a bit of work or something. That'll make this a little less awkward. When they get out, Derek starts to go around the side of the house but Stiles tugs him toward the front door.

"You're not a wanted criminal and you're supposed to be my boyfriend, there's no need to sneak around. My dad's not here anyway, don't freak out. Front doors, Derek, people actually use them."

"I know that," Derek says with a frown, but he closely follows Stiles.

Just as Stiles is about to open the door and let them inside, he stops abruptly and turns around, nearly smashing into Derek's chest. "Wait. Jacket off."

Derek raises one eyebrow. "What?"

Stiles makes a grabby gesture with one hand, and when Derek doesn't move, starts pushing his jacket off his shoulders. "You got faerie dust all over you," Stiles says, "and that shit is a bitch to clean up as it is. It's probably all over my jeep already, but you're not traipsing it through my house."

"I don't traipse."

"Lurk, skulk, whatever, you're not immune to spreading it. Help me out here."

Derek doesn't protest anymore and shrugs out of his jacket, watching with amusement as Stiles shakes it out and beats it against the hand railing as though it were a dusty old rug. It probably says something about Derek's aversion to being covered with glitter that he doesn't even complain of Stiles' treatment of it.

"Ugh, it's not going to get better," Stiles says, handing it back and trying to brush off the little sparkles that got stuck to his arm. "I can't wait until this whole mess is over."

Derek purses his lips together and sort of looks like he's trying to appear as if that statement didn't internally wound him, and Stiles sighs. Oh, right, possessive boyfriend mode right now, probably doesn't help to remind him it's not real. Or maybe it would, Stiles doesn't know, there's no guide on this. "I mean, like, the marking she's doing or whatever. It's annoying, you know?" he asks as he holds up his hand, covered in shiny gold and purple specks. "At least there aren't flowers sprouting up like weeds right now." Stiles glances up to the top of Derek's head. "She could've made you a nice little crown of them, though. Brighten up your wardrobe a little."

"Get in the house, Stiles," Derek says flatly. Stiles grins; glitter bombed or not, it's nicely reassuring that Derek is still Derek in some ways right now. Getting all wolfed out and ready to attack without thinking _and_ no sense of humour; yep, it's still Derek.

"Want anything to drink?" Stiles asks once they're inside, and wanders into the kitchen to wash his hands. He's not surprised that Derek follows him. The closeness thing, that's … well, not new exactly, Derek's never really respected Stiles' personal bubble, but it feels different now. Softer around the edges, more … intimate, almost, but that's probably not a word Stiles should be thinking about in regards to Derek, even with this whole mess they're in.

"I'm fine," Derek says, but Stiles grabs two Cokes from the fridge anyway. Derek doesn't protest taking it.

Stiles goes into the living room and flops down on the couch. Despite there being the full couch plus two chairs, Derek still sits down right next to him. But the car ride must've mellowed him out or something, because he's not crowding into Stiles' space like he was at the field. But he's not letting Stiles get very far either.

"Okay, so what happened?" Stiles asks, seeing no need for any small talk or whatever.

"I was at the house but I needed to run into town to get some things. I went to the hardware store," Derek says. "And she ... I don't know if she was already there, or if she followed me in, or what. But it was the faerie who spoke to me, not the teacher."

"She brought out her wings in the middle the store?" Stiles asks in disbelief. Supernatural creatures these days, seriously, do they not have any self-preservation? The vamps last year loved flaunting it; though, admittedly, very few innocent bystander civilians actually believed it. It's easy to pass off as unusual folks these days.

"No, not fully. But her eyes ... and her voice. It was her behind the wheel."

"Oh, god," Stiles says. "Even I haven't seen her like that for a while. Not since that one day at the councillor's office, and it was only for a second. But I see Ms. Morrell around the school all the time. Why now? Why today? Why _you_?"

"I don't know," Derek says.

"What'd she do? What'd she say?"

"If you just shut up for one second, I'll tell you," Derek says, but it's lacking its usual heat. Stiles grins and makes the gesture that he's zipping and locking his mouth, and then waves for Derek to proceed. Derek huffs but there's a flash of a grin, though it disappears when he starts speaking. "She came up to me and said hello. Asked me how I was doing -- she seemed very chipper, but sinister, you know?" Stiles nods, 'cause yeah, he's seen that with some baddies before. Derek frowns and says, "And then she asked me if I remembered my promise to her in the woods that day. I said yes, and then ... suddenly, I just had to go find you."

"Had to?" Stiles asks.

"Felt like I had to," Derek amends.

Stiles nods. "That must've been when she glittered bombed you. Remember when you said you thought she had done something similar to, like, calm my dad about us? What if that's true? Like she's using power or influence or whatever, and the glitter and sometimes flowers are the side affects of that."

"Yeah," Derek says. He frowns like he's thinking.

"What was your promise again?" Stiles says, tilting his head to the side. He remembers Derek's macho posturing, claiming Stiles as his, but that whole night was such a weird blur he doesn't remember the specific words.

Derek's gaze is at some vague point over the coffee table and not at all in Stiles' direction. "To keep you happy and safe."

"Ah, right. Is that why you didn't rip Scott's throat out, because it would've made me very unhappy?" Stiles says. It's teasingly, but Derek glances at him sharply. "Because it would've. I definitely would've dumped you for that, just saying."

Derek frowns. "I don't want to hurt Scott."

"I know, I know, just kidding," Stiles says, holding up his hands. "He was just in the way, right. But ... okay, so I don't get it. Why does she care? If she's trying to take me, then why does it seem like she's trying to push us together?"

"Keep us together," Derek says, looking down at the can of Coke in his hand. "She already thinks we are."

"Right, right, but still," Stiles says, trying to push down the squirmy feeling he doesn't quite understand, "it doesn't really make sense, right?"

Derek's quiet for a moment, and then cautiously says, "What if she's not after you?"

"What? Of course she is, she even said in the woods--"

"Did she?" Derek says, finally looking Stiles right in the eyes again. "Did she really?"

Stiles' heart turns to ice. "No, who else -- _no_ , you're wrong," Stiles says immediately. His heart starts thumping wildly. "It's me, okay?"

"Okay, Stiles," Derek says, placating, which is just weird coming from Derek and it suddenly makes Stiles very angry.

"It _is_! Okay? I know what you're thinking, and my dad is _fine_ , nothing is after him," Stiles says, waving his arms around agitatedly. "After two years of all this supernatural bullshit, he's been safe and fine and nothing has harmed him and nothing is going too!"

" _Okay_ ," Derek repeats. He quickly puts his Coke on the coffee table and catches Stiles' angry hands in his own, bringing them down to rest between them. "Everything is fine."

"You're just saying that because you think you have to make me happy right now," Stiles spits out. "And safe. I don't feel any safer thinking something is after my dad, all right? I'd much rather it be me, and it is, so don't treat me like a child here."

He swears that Derek's eyes flash red but it's gone instantly. Derek's jaw is clenched together. "I won't if you stop acting like it. Calm down."

"I'm calm," Stiles says, "I'm perfectly calm. You?"

"Calm," Derek says, and it's much easier to believe that Derek is than Stiles right now, which Stiles does not like. But Stiles takes in deep breaths, and pushes down the panic he was starting to feel. Derek seems to mimic him, breathing with him, though he doesn't even seem to make a conscious decision to do so. It actually helps, and the panic Stiles was feeling fades quicker, leaving less of a hole, than it usually does. 

When Derek seems to think Stiles is fine and not about to fly off the handle, he asks, "Why don't you call your dad?"

"He's fine," Stiles says, but he lets go of Derek's hands and is pulling his phone out his pocket as he says it. He presses the speed dial for his dad's office, and it only takes one ring before his dad picks up. That makes the last of the panic fade away completely, hearing the easy, familiar tone of his father being _perfectly okay_. Stiles asks him if he was coming home for supper or not, and his dad says he'll bring home leftovers from earlier.

The conversation only lasts about thirty seconds, because his dad says he needs to finish up one thing and he'll be right home, but it makes Stiles feel a lot better. When he ends the call he looks at Derek accusingly. "He's fine. Told you."

"You told me," Derek agrees. "Do you want me or one of my pack to keep an eye on him till he's home?"

Stiles is surprised by the offer, and he almost says yes. But giving it a second thought, he shakes his head. "My father is a grown man and can take care of himself. He's been fine so far, right? And ..." Stiles frowns, letting the implication of it all start to catch up in his brain, now that he's not crawling out of his skin with worry. "He's not attached to anyone, like she thinks I am, so she could've just taken him whenever, right? And she's had opportunity. And she hasn't."

"Which is a good thing. There's got to be a reason why she hasn't," Derek says.

"Exactly," Stiles says. "What if -- what if my dad is really a decoy to still get to me?"

Derek rubs his knuckles over the bottom of his chin thoughtfully. "Could be."

Stiles feels relieved; he's not sure if it's because Derek didn't brush off that thought as if it's nothing, or that it means that, really, it's still Stiles she's after so his dad is relatively safe. He can admit to himself it's probably both, though he's definitely more concerned about his dad right now. The faerie can come after Stiles all she wants.

Rather than filling Derek in on all his worries -- he can probably smell them on Stiles anyway, hear the way his heart's pounding is finally slowing down -- Stiles says offhandedly, "Guess we're still boyfriends then."

Derek unconsciously shifts closer to Stiles on the couch, saying, "Guess so. Probably should keep it up until we know her game plan."

"Okay," Stiles says, and there's even more relief flooding in. He's happy to find Derek's still willing to have his back, even though it might not have anything directly to do with Stiles anyway. Still, Stiles sighs. "I don't like this, you know? That we don't know for sure, that it's all so up in the air, that it could be--"

"We'll talk to Argent," Derek interrupts, sounding a bit grim but certain. He unnecessarily clarifies, "Chris, I mean."

Stiles blinks at him. "Seriously? Is this just a spur of the moment comment because of the glittery promise to keep me happy?"

"And safe," Derek adds, "but no. I've been thinking about it since she brought it up the other night. It -- I don't like it, but you and Allison are right. Chris could be able to help us out."

"Wow," Stiles says. "Wow. You just said that."

Derek rolls his eyes. "Are you going to ask Allison when we can talk to him or not?"

"Oh, yeah, yeah," Stiles says, moving quickly to text her before Derek changes his mind. He sends her _me and D want to talk to your dad, check when?_ and immediately sends a second one that says, _don't tell him why till we do_ and hopes she understands.

Stiles doesn't hear back immediately, so he grabs the remote and turns on the TV, restlessly flipping through channels. He's sitting on the edge of the couch, elbow on one knee and hand propping up his head, his other leg jiggling impatiently. For his part, Derek sits besides him and waits. He doesn't bother trying to get Stiles to calm down anymore, he probably knows it's pointless.

When Allison texts back, it says _busy tonite, tmrw after school?_ When he relays the message to Derek, Derek nods. 

After that's settled, Stiles flops back against the cushion, his head brushing Derek's arm where it's across the back of the couch. This actually feels comfortable, familiar, much like when he's over at Derek's place but without all the pack lazing around them.

"Wanna watch a movie?" Stiles asks as he presses in the number for the movie channel and hoping something good comes up. It's like all the fight and worry has temporarily drained out of him, and that it's okay because Derek's right there and everything is going to be fine. They'll make sure of it.

"Sure," Derek says, and his arm drops down so it's on Stiles' shoulders. Without even thinking, Stiles leans into Derek. Derek tenses a little for a second, but then relaxes and doesn't complain about the movie Stiles puts on.

Stiles knows it's just because of the faeries and stuff, and promises himself not to read too much into this but, really, it feels kind of nice.

\---

" _Stiles_. Stiles, come on, wake up."

Stiles can feel strong arms around him, and himself pressed up to a firm body. He takes a deep breath, and he can smell forest and a hint the aftershave Derek wears. Doing the only thing he can think of doing -- or wanting to do -- in his dozy dream, he snuggles a bit closer and presses his face into Derek's neck, his hips against Derek's hips.

"Stiles. Come on."

"Mmmno," Stiles murmurs. His lips brush against warm, stubbly skin. Derek's neck. Man, how Stiles dreams -- is dreaming -- about that neck. 

He's about to start sucking lightly when he can feel that neck rumble a little when Derek says, "Are you glittered _right now_?"

Stiles' eyes fly open and he tries to push back a little bit -- he's woken up fast, but he can tell that he's laying out on the edge of the couch, and the only reason he isn't falling to the floor is because _Derek_ is holding him in place.

"Holy god," Stiles says, and feels the blush rising to his cheeks.

"We fell asleep," Derek says, "and your father just got home."

"Holy _god_ ," Stiles repeats, just as he's hearing the front door shutting. He flails so much that Derek ends up letting Stiles go -- probably to avoid getting clocked right in the face by one of Stiles' limbs -- and Stiles falls to his ass on the floor.

His dad is standing at the entrance to living room, blinking at them. Stiles can just imagine how they look -- Derek still stretched out on the couch, Stiles looking wide-eyed and wild, cheeks flushed red (with embarrassment, _okay_ ). The movie they started watching plays in the background so they couldn't have been sleeping that long, but Stiles doesn't really remember passing out with Derek like that. He must've arranged Stiles more comfortably, and clung to him because the freaking faerie made him feel that way. Man, Stiles is pissed at her for messing up the dynamic they had. Now everything is going to be weird.

"Hello," he dad says, eyebrows rising. "I thought Derek wasn't coming over today."

"Change of plans," Stiles says, which is the understatement of the year.

"Staying for dinner, Derek?" his dad asks.

"No thanks, Sheriff," Derek says, smoothly getting off the couch. He holds out a hand and helps pull Stiles to his feet. "I should probably get going."

"You don't have to, if you don't want," Stiles finds himself saying. He has no idea how Derek is feeling after their little nap together, and if _he's_ still glittered or not, how he would react if he had to leave. "You can stay."

"It's okay, Stiles," Derek says. "I really should go."

Stiles sees it then; Derek's a little more reserved, more guarded, than he was earlier. All right, no longer the possessive, clingy boyfriend. That's ... well, that's that, then.

"Sure," Stiles says, "no problem."

"I'll go get this ready," his dad says, holding up a bag of leftovers. 

"My dad tried vegetarian today," Stiles explains.

"It was good," his dad seems reluctant to admit.

Derek's staring at the take-out bag. "The new place? By the hardware store?"

Stiles' heart starts thumping in his chest, much like it did earlier. Derek puts a hand on the small of his back, the pressure feeling like a weight grounding him. Stiles swallows, but he doesn't freak out. Not much. Not on the outside, anyway.

"Yeah, that's the one," his dad says. "I recommend it, actually. See you later, Derek." With that, he goes to the kitchen, probably thinking of giving Stiles and Derek a moment of privacy to say goodbye. Instead, Derek takes the moment to calm Stiles the heck down.

"Doesn't mean anything," he says, being the one practically herding Stiles to the door. "He's fine. Check him for glitter, but it's fine. I'm the one she went after, right?"

"Because of me," Stiles says, feeling a bit in a daze.

"Because we don't know what game she's playing," Derek says. "And we're going to find out more info tomorrow, right?"

"Right."

Derek takes his jacket from where it's hanging on a hook by the door. All the glitter has seemed to have slipped right off and lost its shine, a dull little pile on Stiles' floor. Derek squeezes Stiles' shoulder and leans close. If his dad were to walk in, it probably just look like Derek is leaning in for a kiss; for a second, Stiles almost thinks it himself. But then Derek just whispers, "I'll tail him tomorrow, okay? While you're at school." 

Stiles doesn't like the idea that his dad needs a tail, and he hasn't seemed to have needed one before now, but he nods. "Thanks."

Derek stands back up. "Sure, no problem. Tomorrow night, we're on? We'll figure it out."

"Yeah. Yeah, see you then."

Derek stands there for a moment, looking a bit torn as to whether or not he should leave Stiles. Stiles doesn't want him thinking he has to be there any more than he already has that day. It's not cool, that that thought was sort of planted into his head, and Stiles wouldn't want that for anyone, not even Derek. Stiles opens the door and pushes Derek lightly. "See you tomorrow."

"Yeah, tomorrow."

After Derek's gone, Stiles goes to the dining room table, where his dad has spread out the take-out containers that he heated up. He grabs a plate and randomly scoops on some food, not paying much attention to what he's taking.

"How was your lunch date?" he asks.

"Lunch meeting with colleagues," his father says immediately. That right there is sort of a trigger, that maybe it wasn't what he was claiming. Stiles watches his dad's face carefully, but doesn't see anything else that belies his words. "And it was good."

"Derek says he was at the hardware store today, picking up stuff for the house," Stiles mentions. "Don't suppose you saw him or anything."

His dad gives him an odd look. "Uh, no, guess I missed him."

Stiles nods. He's trying to work out a timeline -- but, yeah, his dad was probably long gone before the faerie and Derek were in that part of town. It's all good. Really.

"Speaking of Derek," his dad starts.

"I swear to god, we just fell asleep, we weren't doing anything wrong," Stiles says immediately.

His dad looks like he wants to burst out laughing, as if he knew Stiles' predicament and finds it funny. There's no way, though, so it's got to be something else. Stiles narrows his eyes at him. "What?"

"Nothing," his dad says. "But, seriously, you should invite him over for dinner one night. I think he's trying to avoid me."

"Well, to be fair, you're not exactly happy about this whole thing, are you? Also, you've arrested him."

"Hey, there was grounds for that."

"I know, I know," Stiles says, grinning at his dad. "He doesn't hold it against you. I think."

"Good to know," his dad says dryly. They quietly eat for a couple moments, and then his father speaks up again. "Stiles, are you happy?"

"What do you mean?"

"With ... I don't know, just asking," his father says, looking a little unsure.

"Yeah, Dad," Stiles says softly. It's not untrue, exactly -- there are probably things that could happen that would make him happier, but for what his life is -- "Yeah, I am. You?"

"Of course," his dad says.

Stiles can't tell if that's the truth, all the truth, but it seems to be as much a truth as Stiles', so he can't hold it against him. "Good."

"Yeah," his father says. 

They don't talk much more while they eat, but it's a comfortable silence, so that's okay.

When Stiles goes upstairs to finish his homework, he's only a little disappointed that Derek isn't there, traipsing or skulking or lurking. And when he looks out the window and sees something move in the trees, he knows it's probably just the wind.

He pushes all that aside and revisits his research. Whether it's him or his dad she's after, no supernatural creature is taking any Stilinski down.


	5. Chapter 5

"Would you stop making that face?" Stiles asks. Derek looks very grim, like he's marching into battle.

Maybe in his mind, he is.

"Come on, cookie crumb," Stiles says when Derek doesn't respond, and tugs on Derek's hand. Derek rolls his eyes and at least relents, moving from his spot on the sidewalk outside the Argent's house. Stiles says casually, "Never expected you to be afraid of a hunter. That you have a truce with. And whose daughter you sometimes hang out with."

"Don't be ridiculous," Derek says, impassive as a stone statue. "I'm just not particularly happy with this situation."

"Are you ever happy?"

"Happens on occasion," Derek says absently. He's frowning at the front door, and turns to look at Stiles. "You're sure about this?"

"Well _yeah_ ," Stiles says. "You're not backing out, are you? We agreed, anything funny happens and we'd ask for help. Yesterday, with the glitter bomb that made you all, you know. That was ..."

"Funny?" Derek asks, lips pursed in a thin line.

"That's not what I meant it, and you know it," Stiles says, not taking the bait. Sure, this morning they didn't exactly go into depth about Derek's little possessive, clingy boyfriend routine, but Stiles knows it's better for his personal well being not to tease Derek about it. Besides, it wasn't Derek's fault, it was the faerie. Scott, on the other hand, couldn't help but get a couple digs throughout the course of the day but Stiles ignored those as well. Because, well ... there's something squirmy in Stiles' stomach when he thinks about falling asleep on the couch with Derek, and the way it felt to be close to him.

Stiles tries to ignore it. It's just the faerie, and Stiles needs to stay away from that dangerous line of thought.

"I know," Derek says. His eyes are dark and unreadable when he says, "But I meant the whole ... not filling Argent in on _everything_."

Stiles shakes his head. "Nah. If he's going to get involved, it'll be more authentic if he believes we're, you know, us. Need to know basis and whatnot. And if he runs into the faerie, or whatever, he won't end up giving it away. Right? I mean. Less people that know we're trying to trick her ancient ass, the better."

Derek takes a deep breath but nods. "This better not break the truce, is all I'm saying."

"Hey, his daughter dates a werewolf, what does he care if I do?"

"He'll care," Derek says, "if it means getting to spite me even more."

"Have some trust, grumps," Stiles says, shaking his head. "Can we just get this over with?" He takes a step toward the door, but Derek pushes past Stiles and knocks on it. He's planted himself in front of Stiles, as if he were a shield. Which is ridiculous, because this is _Allison's_ house, and Allison is Stiles' friend and fellow pack member. In no way does Stiles feel afraid or worried about himself. If anything, he's a bit ... concerned about bringing a werewolf who isn't Scott to the Argent house -- and even that raises flags for him sometime. Himself? Stiles is fine. But Derek doing or saying something stupid to ruin the truce would truly suck to epic portions, because that's not a complication they need right now.

It's not Allison that answers the door, but Chris Argent himself. He pulls the door open, silently stares at Derek and then Stiles. "Well then," he drawls slowly, and he flashes his pearly teeth in a not exactly friendly way, "if it isn't the happy couple."

"Hi," Stiles says, giving a small wave.

Derek doesn't say anything. Argent doesn't say anything either, and he doesn't open the door further to let them inside the house. Instead, he and Derek have some sort of little staring contest thingy and Stiles can do nothing but ping his eyes back and forth between them like he's watching a tennis match. A very silent yet potentially deadly one, and Stiles crosses his fingers in hopes that it doesn't turn out that way.

"Come on in," Argent finally says, and pushes the door open more and walks away.

Stiles has been here before, to hang out with Allison but Scott was always there and Stiles has always done what he could to avoid Allison's dad. But he knows his way around a bit, so he slips off his shoes and hangs his jacket up on a hook. Derek looks pained to do the same, to get that comfortable in a hunter's house, but he does it and follows Stiles into the den, where he saw Mr. Argent go.

"Allison and Scott are out right now," Mr. Argent says, and gestures around the room to indicate that they take a seat.

Derek's eyes sweep the room, as if he's trying to take inventory of possible weapons and plan an escape route, and finally sits down on the right side of the couch. Close to the exit but where he can see if anyone enters the room and his back isn't to anyone, Stiles notes to himself, but sits down right next to Derek. Mr. Argent raises one eyebrow but takes an armchair across from them, completely unconcerned. Somehow, the little coffee table doesn't seem enough of a barrier.

"So," Mr. Argent starts, "I have to say, I was surprised when Allison said you wanted to talk to me."

"What did she tell you?" Derek asks. Stiles and Derek both know -- Stiles grilled Allison during lunch hour about that, and he filled Derek in on the way over -- but he's probably trying to feel Argent out on the subject.

"Nothing other than the reason why the two of you would be seeking help _together_." His eyes dart between Stiles and Derek, and he does not look amused at all. "That's new."

"That's not really any of your business," Derek says, cool and bristling.

"Except that is kind is, about this," Stiles reminds him.

Argent ignores both those comments, but addresses Stiles. "Do you know what you're getting into here?"

Stiles barely refrains from rolling his eyes. "If you're going to give me a talk about dating an older man, been there, done that. I have my own dad, thanks."

"I seriously doubt he's warned you about everything, Stiles," Argent says, smirking. "Like that dangers of dating a werewolf."

"Well, Allison told me the lecture you gave her, so I'm good," Stiles says. "This isn't the reason why we’re here."

"Except that it kind of is," Derek adds in. At Stiles look, he shrugs. "What? You're the one who just said so."

"All right, let's put aside the stupidity of Stiles dating an older werewolf Alpha," Argent says. When Derek flinches angrily, Stiles puts his hand on Derek's knee and gives him a warning look to chill. Derek relaxes minutely, and Stiles doesn't bother moving his hand. All part of the act, right? One that Argent seems to be buying, the way he looks at Derek's knee then up to Stiles. "Why exactly are you here?"

"To tell you about our faerie problem. Like, an actual faerie," Stiles says. "With a trap and wings and scary teeth and everything."

Argent looks mildly impressed with that, but also alert and on guard. "Here? In Beacon Hills?"

Derek nods. "Yes. Stiles was in the forest one night--"

"Why was he there?" Argent interrupts.

"I felt a pull," Stiles answers. "Like -- like I _had_ to go. And so I did, but only after stopping my dad from going too, I think. But then I got stuck in her trap. Derek had tracked me down and busted in and helped me get free."

"How'd you get him free?"

Derek's gaze doesn't falter from Argent's. "I told her he was mine."

"Have you been together long?" Mr. Argent asks.

"Hey, wait," Stiles says. "I thought that we weren't talking about that."

"It's relevant information if it's a faerie that's involved, and she's targeting you."

"Oh, okay," Stiles says uneasily. "In that case -- no. It's new. New _ish_. But we've known each other for a long time."

Argent shrugs. "You've known Scott for a long time, but you're not involved with him, are you?"

"You know I'm not," Stiles says. Then he smiles. "That honour goes to Allison."

And, all right then, maybe not the best idea to poke Papa Bear. Derek thinks so too, as the sharp elbow into Stiles' ribs indicates.

"That's not my point," Mr. Argent says tightly. "But if she's going after you, she will respect the fact that you're involved with someone else -- especially a werewolf, as werewolves are known to have close bonds with their humans. However, if she thinks it's not that serious, she might do what she can to separate you so she can snatch you up."

Derek says, "We've recently determined that it might not be Stiles she's after."

This time it's Stiles that tenses, and Derek shifts his arm so that it brushes against his.

"We don't know that," Stiles says. "It's -- it's fine."

"Doesn't sound fine, Stiles," Argent says. "What are you keeping from me? I can't help if I don't know."

Derek takes over then. In short, concise sentences, he explains it all -- minus the fake dating part -- from suspecting Stiles' dad might be the target, or at the very least being used as a distraction to Stiles, to the sparkles and flowers and her deadline for finding an end to her loneliness. He even mentions how she glittered bombed him to be very focused and concerned about Stiles, though leaves out just how out of the ordinary that actually is.

It's a little weird, hearing it so cold and matter-of-fact. It makes Stiles realise that Derek -- well, Derek's been a little more understanding and supportive when it comes to discussing it with Stiles. When it comes to helping him out. This Derek, right here in the same room with a hunter, is guarded and isn't extending explicit trust or friendship. His truce with Argent and Argent's hunters is there, but fragile. This is -- this is the Derek that Stiles remembers from a couple years ago whenever he came to Stiles and Scott for help, but it’s not the Derek he knows now.

It's like a feeling that hits him right in between the eyes, or maybe right in the gut, but whatever it is, it throws Stiles off. He wasn't expecting this. That moody and broody Derek still exists, he's still there, it's just that -- it's just that Stiles knows there's more behind it now.

"Anything to add?" Derek says, finally breaking eye contact with Argent to turn and look at Stiles. It startles Stiles out of his minor freak out, and he quickly shakes his head. Derek immediately picks up on it, the little furrow in his brow shifting with his mood, concerned.

"No," Stiles says. "You covered it. I'm good."

Argent is observant, but if he notices something is wrong, he doesn't make mention of it. He's quiet as he watches Derek and Stiles. Stiles can't stand the silence of these two intense dudes staring him down so he shrugs his shoulders and asks, "Do you know anything that might be able to help us?"

Thankfully, Argent nods. "From what I understand, faeries are very rare now, almost extinct. They're ancient but their power is not what it used to be.”

Even though he's not any more open and friendly with them now than before Derek's explanation, he's taking what they said very seriously. That's slightly reassuring, but only slightly. Stiles doesn't like the distrust Argent obviously has for Derek and his kind, though it does seem to be a mutual thing.

Derek nods. "That's what I know as well."

"Do you know why they aren't extinct?"

Derek shakes his head.

"They've survived because they've adapted. They can either latch on to a person -- their soul, if you will -- when they're born, remaining dormant until they feel like coming out of hiding or pass on to another soul. Or they can possess a person's body and take over completely."

Derek glances at Stiles. Neither of them knew that. "How can you tell that difference?" Derek asks.

"I don't know," Mr. Argent says.

"Okay. So how can you stop the faerie from … being a faerie?"

"I believe there's a ritual."

Stiles asks, "What do we have to do in that ritual?"

"I don't know," Argent says.

"Great, so you're no help," Derek says, slapping his hands on his knees and standing up. He says to Stiles, "I knew this wasn't a good idea."

Stiles grabs his hand. "Would you -- hey, we already know more than we did when we walked in here."

"Stiles is right," Argent says. "And even though I don't know, I might know someone who does."

Derek huffs, looking caught between a rock and a hard place. "Will you be able to ask that person?"

Argent smiles graciously, which to Stiles looks like he's just rubbing it in, that he knows more than they do. But he nods and says, "Yes, I will," so Stiles can't help but feel grateful for that.

"I'd really appreciate that," Stiles says. "That last thing I want is to be dragged away by some ancient being."

"Or your father being taken," Argent says. "He's a good man. The town needs him."

"It does," Stiles says softly. And Stiles needs him too. He's not about to lose another parent.

"It may take me a day or two to get information," Argent says.

"We don't have a lot of time," Derek says.

"Well, you could've come to me sooner. Or let my daughter talk to me," Argent says.

"We've tried to keep all of them out of it as much as possible," Stiles says.

"Really? Is that why there’s a werewolf pup keeping an eye on my house as we speak?"

Stiles glances sharply at Derek. Stiles hadn't known that, and Derek hadn't filled him in on it either. But for the first time since walking into Argent's house, Derek looks more relaxed, and he's got that lazy grin of his on his face. "Believe it or not, I don't keep my pack on leashes."

"Maybe you should," Argent says.

This is when Stiles jumps up, getting between Argent and Derek. In a matter of a second, Derek's become irritated again, and Argent stands up nonchalantly, pleased with pissing Derek off. Payment, maybe, for being allowed into his home.

Stiles knows Argent isn't a bad guy, not _really_ , and appreciates the fact that he's come to a truce and is less of a hard ass about letting his daughter run with werewolves, but he knows Argent and Derek will never be on strictly friendly terms. There is no point in making Argent angry, not when he can prove to be useful.

"Okay, thanks," he says quickly. "We should get going. Right, Derek?"

"Right," Derek says. Derek puts his hand on the small of Stiles' back and pushes him to the door, once again putting himself between Argent and Stiles, as if that's something to worry about. They put on their shoes and coats again, and Stiles turns to see that Argent is standing with his arms crossed, watching them.

"See you soon," Derek says, gruffly and a little threatening. Stiles rolls his eyes and shoves Derek out the door.

"Stiles," Argent says, causing Stiles to pause. When he looks back at him, he can see that a little bit of Argent's bluster has fallen. He says, "I will get back to you as fast as I can."

Stiles pauses a moment, and then gives a tentative smile. "Thanks."

Argent nods, and then closes the door behind them.

They walk down the sidewalk and towards Derek’s car on the street. Stiles waves his hands out to the sides. “Werewolf pup? Really?”

Boyd’s head pops up on the other side of the Camero, and he looks completely unabashed for being caught there. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Derek says, unconcerned.

“Boyd, what are you doing here?” Stiles asks.

“I heard you talking to Allison and Scott at school,” Boyd says, coming around the car and leaning on it. “And I thought maybe you might need some back up.”

“We didn’t ask for any,” Stiles says. He turns to Derek. “Right?”

“Nope.” He’s smiling, pleased, and claps Boyd on the shoulder, like he’s proud. Happy that his pack has his back.

Stiles sighs. “Well, we don’t need babysitters.”

Boyd smirks. “Did you tell Scott that?”

“Scott? What does Scott have to do with anything--” And that’s when, of course, Scott makes his way out of some bushes lining the edge of the property. He, at least, looks a little sheepish. Stiles throws his hands up in the air. “Scott!”

“Mr. Argent didn’t want us sitting in on this meeting,” Scott says, “and pretty much banned me and Allison from the house. I think he’s mad we didn’t come to him sooner or something.”

“So then where’s Allison?”

“At Lydia’s. I covered this one so her dad wouldn’t get mad at her.”

Stiles sighs and pins Derek with a look. “What are we going to do about this?”

Derek looks at Boyd, and then Scott. “Want a ride home?” Both nod and start getting into the car.

“Pushover,” Stiles mutters at Derek, but Derek still looks calmly pleased that the others didn’t explicitly trust a hunter either or something. It’s hard to stay pissed at that.

\---

"Stilinski! Hale!"

Stiles spins around as his and Derek's names are called out. He's loitering in the school parking lot by Derek's car before school. Derek had just dropped Isaac off, and Erica and Isaac are already making their way inside. Stiles had hopped up to Derek's car, to maybe feel out how awkward Derek's going to be, what with the weekend douse of faerie glitter _and_ having to deal with a hunter he's not particularly friendly with. Just as he was going to try and get Derek to talk, like really talk since that didn’t happen before Derek dropped Scott and Stiles off the night before, Coach Finstock decides to interrupt.

"Stilinski!" Coach calls out again.

"Yeah, Coach?" Stiles asks, standing next to Derek as they both look over at the coach. "The bell hasn't rung, I'm not late yet."

"Do you have a barbeque, Hale?" Coach asks as he approaches them.

Derek gives him a blank look. "Barbeque?"

"Yes, yes, you know. Big black thing that cooks hamburgers and hotdogs and steaks," Coach answers, waving a hand around.

Stiles interrupts. "Is this about Friday? This is about Friday," he says to Derek.

Clearly, Derek still doesn't know what's going on, and Coach sighs. "Now, I know Stilinski here talks a lot -- and I mean _a lot_ \--"

"Hey," Stiles puts in, offended, but more like he feels like he should than actual offense. It's not untrue, and Derek's mouth quirks slightly.

Coach ignores Stiles. "-- And I'm sure you're still working on perfecting your filter of what you should listen to and what you should ignore, which, let's face it, is going to be most of it--"

"Hey!"

"But anything that has to do with me, the team, or fundraisers for the team, you should take very special note of. Got it?"

"Got it," Derek says dutifully. It's probably for the best -- Stiles has definitely told him to just go with the flow when it comes to the coach.

"Good," Coach says. "Now, about Friday."

Derek interrupts, "I still don't know what's going on Friday." Coach looks at Stiles, incredulous, like it's Stiles' fault or something that Derek doesn't listen to him.

"I showed him all my sparkly posters before I put them up," Stiles says in an effort to defend himself.

Derek says deadpanned, "I have an aversion to sparkles," and Stiles can't help but laugh.

Coach glances between them. "I really, really don't want to know. Seriously, keep that stuff to yourself. But do you know what _I'm_ talking about? This is very important, Hale, that you understand what I'm asking here. Team. Fundraisers. Put two and two together, man."

"Right," Derek says. "The barbeque fundraiser is this Friday. No, I don't have a barbeque."

"Do you know how to barbeque?"

Derek shrugs. Coach takes that as a yes. "Perfect!" he cries out, clapping a hand on Derek's shoulder. "I'll add you to the list of volunteers."

"You don't have to do this," Stiles says to Derek, and then turns to the coach. "We have a full team of lacrosse players to cook and stuff."

"A lot of them have already asked to recruit their significant others, Stilinski, don't be a drag and bring down the team's good will."

"It's fine," Derek says. "I'm going to be there anyway."

"Of course you are," Coach says.

"Yeah," Stiles says, "with a ticket you bought from _Isaac_."

Coach holds up his hands. "Don't want to hear it." With that, he stalks off again.

Stiles turns to Derek. "Seriously, you don't have to do that." The warning bell rings, but Stiles can afford a few seconds to ignore it. "I mean, that's -- this is -- that's a lot."

"What's a lot?"

"Well," Stiles says slowly. He doesn't know how to say it, not delicately, so he just blurts it out. A style that has worked for him several times before. "You're not my actual, you know, and there are going to be a lot of people there. It would be ... pretending a lot."

"I don't see how it's going to be any different," Derek says, "than standing around here with you."

Stiles raises his eyebrows. "You've never been to a team event before, have you?"

"I've watched a couple games."

"This will be different. And, after the last couple days--"

Derek looks at him sharply. "What about them?"

"You could classify them as being ... straining to a relationship," Stiles says carefully.

Derek doesn't say anything for a long moment. Stiles shifts uncomfortably on spot, but waits for Derek to speak. Finally, he says, "Nothing to really strain, right?"

"Right!" Stiles agrees immediately. "So we're good?"

"We're good," Derek says. He pushes on Stiles shoulder, which is surprisingly more gentle and almost playful than any time he's done it before. "You better go or you'll be late."

"Right, right," Stiles says nodding. "I'll talk to you later."

"Yep," Derek says, and that's it for his goodbye. Stiles tries not to feel disappointed, because he knows he shouldn't expect more, but he'd be lying to himself if he didn't admit he's almost looking forward to the fundraiser and getting the chance to show off a hot boyfriend like Derek. Even if it's not for real, because Derek's turned out not to be the wet blanket Stiles always took him for. Should be good times. Hopefully.

Stiles says goodbye to Derek, and quickly makes his way to the school. He's taken this route to class before, and has it timed nearly perfectly, so he shouldn't be late. He should be on time, right on the nose.

Only, he stops for a moment. He can't help it. There's a strong whiff of flowers and perfume. Sweet but unnatural. Like ... like what Stiles has smelled once before, in the forest, while stuck in a faeries' trap.

Stiles spins around, and thankfully still has the full ability too. She can't be _that_ close, he's not frozen in spot. Maybe she was there before, or maybe the day before, or something. Stiles does what he's seen all his werewolf buddies do, and follows his nose, trying to track the scent.

Stiles is no werewolf, and happily so, but it would've come in handy right now. Stiles doesn't find anything, only ends up at a brick wall. Near the chemistry room.

Just in time for Mr. Harris to poke his head out, see Stiles, and declare him tardy. Again. And gives him a detention. _Again_.

\---

By the time Stiles is done both lacrosse practice and then detention -- in which Coach Finstock must've made some sort of deal with Harris to allow Stiles to do both consecutively rather than miss practice for detention -- it's already later into the evening. As he walks through the halls to his locker, he notices how eerily quiet it is in the school. It must be nearly empty, save for a janitor rattling around somewhere. There are lights on in the hall, but the sun is already sinking in the autumn sky, and it makes it seem dim and maybe a little spooky.

Stiles hurries to his locker. Not because he's afraid -- it's just the school, after all, even if it does have its moments from time to time -- but because he wants to get home as soon as possible. His dad is not going to be pleased in finding out Stiles got in trouble yet again, and being home early would probably negate, at the very least, a disappointed look, and at the most, avoid a grounding. Avoiding that would be awesome -- Stiles has a lot to do.

Plus, yeah, Stiles can admit he's worried for his father and leaving him alone too long. Until they find out exactly what the faerie wants with either Stilinski, it's best to be around his dad as much as possible.

Stiles gets to his locker, spins the combo lock, and pops it open. He shoves in the Chemistry book -- the only homework he'd been allowed to work on -- and grabs his other binder. He takes his backpack and coat from the hook, and slams the locker closed.

He spins around, takes all of one step, and then he's frozen. Well, not all of him, but his feet won't budge another inch. It's like they're weighed down, cemented to the hall floor. And the hall becomes brighter and brighter, unnaturally so.

A purple and gold speck of glitter floats on the air in front of him.

"Holy shit," he says, and looks to the end of the hall, where the light is brightest.

She's standing there. Ms. Morrell, but not exactly. The faerie is clearly pushing through, like that night in the forest and unlike what Stiles has seen since. She looks the same as then; purple streaks in her hair, a golden shimmer across her skin, and her eyes are dark purple with gold pupils. A tiny row of sharp teeth show through her smile. And, of course, the incandescent wings that splay out behind her.

Of course.

"Oh my god," Stiles says as she steps closer to him. There aren't flowers springing at her feet this time, but maybe it's because she's walking in _the school_ rather than over the forest floor.

She approaches him silently, the smile growing wider, until she's stopped right in front of him. She's so close that he can feel the little ripples on the air as her wings flap behind her, but sending a breeze in his direction. If he reached out, he'd be able to touch her.

He doesn't reach out. Not like that. He needs to use his words to get some information from her, as much as possible.

"What do you want?"

"Oh, Mr. Stilinski," she says. Her voice is as eerie as it was that first time, and the one brief moment in Ms. Morrell's office, even if the faerie wasn't in full control of the wheel then. She definitely is now. It sends a shiver down Stiles' spine. She tilts her head to the side and assesses him intensely. "Is it not I who should be asking that?"

"I ... I don't know what you mean," Stiles says.

"You have been asking about me," she says.

"Uh, what? No. No, I haven't. Why would I do that?"

"Why indeed," she says. "Perhaps you want to get rid of me?"

"No. No, of course not."

"Oh? You are not concerned about saving yourself?"

"I'm always more concerned about others," Stiles says.

She smiles. "That you certainly seem to be. To a fault, even. Who are you concerned about right now?"

"Well, for one, that councilor you've decided to wear." Stiles wonders, maybe, if he can reach to Ms. Morrell in there, if maybe reminding the faerie that there is an actual human being she's using as part of her existence will trigger something inside the real Ms. Morrell. Bring her out. It's a long shot, but Stiles is shooting blind right now anyway. He doesn't know nearly as much as he'd like.

"Wear?" She chuckles lowly, but it lacks all sense of humour. "What makes you think I'm wearing her?"

If she wasn't wearing her, in the possessed terms, then maybe it was like Mr. Argent said, and the faerie was born in her. Stiles licks his lips nervously. "Why are you using her, then, to get to me?"

She smiles at that. "Why would I want you?"

"I'm a stud muffin," he says, cracking a dry joke. She doesn't laugh, though, just stares him in the eyes and waits for a real answer. He swallows hard. "You can't have me and you know it."

She leans forward, and it's a tandem with Stiles leaning back and trying to stay away from her. He can't move his feet though, and the back of his head and shoulder blades bump into the locker behind him. She stretches out a thin arm and places her hand on the locker right beside Stiles' head.

"I know I cannot have _you_ ," she says, "but it was never about you."

Stiles tenses, and tries to spring himself forward ... he doesn't know what, but he's not afraid and he's not going to cower away from her. "You stay away from him!"

"Him? Who, him?"

"You know who," Stiles spats out. "You said ... you said a Stilinski. If it's not me, it's my dad."

She smiles again, and she finally looks _happy_. It's in twisted way, though, and makes Stiles sick to his stomach. "You finally get it. She--" the faerie taps her temple "-- thinks you are very bright, but it has certainly taken you long enough to figure me out."

"And you don't care that I know?" Stiles asks. "Because it's not good for you that I do, you know. I won't let you hurt him. I swear to god, if you do, I will send you to whatever ancient oblivion exists for creatures like you."

"I do not want to hurt him. I do not want to hurt you. It is not about that."

"What's it about, then?"

The faerie smiles serenely. "Not being lonely. Finding happiness. With someone."

"Find someone else, you sicko," Stiles bites out. "Leave me and my dad alone."

"I am afraid no one else is going to do," she says. She lifts her hand away from the locker, but runs a fingertip along his jaw. He jerks his head away, but she only smiles. "And you are still a part of this plan. He would not have it any other way."

"My dad isn't a part of any plan, not knowingly. And I'm not either."

"That is where you are wrong. You have been wrong all along."

"You can't take him away from me," Stiles says. "He'd never let you."

It's this that makes her look surprised. "I do not want to take him away from you. But you are going to have to learn to share. It is best for us all, me and you and him and even her."

"No, it's not," Stiles says through gritted teeth. He struggles forward, pushing his upper body away from the lockers, but his feet still won't move. His arms windmill as he tries to keep his balance, but he tilts forward anyway. He's only stopped because she places a hand on his shoulder. He can't get the leverage to pull away, and she slowly pushes him so he's standing straight up. She squeezes his shoulder.

"Stiles," she says, "for him to ever let go, move on, you need to find your happiness. It is the only way he will find his."

"Back off," Stiles says. "Stay away from us."

She ignores him, and runs her other fingertip over the other side of his jaw. "Go and find your happiness right now. Before I find him first, and tear him apart for getting in my way. Neither of us wants that, it is not part of the plan."

Stiles' heart skips a beat, and then pounds faster than ever in his chest. It feels like she poured ice cold water over him, and it coats his insides with fear. "Derek," he breathes out. "You stay away from him too, I swear to god, don't you fucking touch him!"

She smiles again, flashing her sharp teeth. "He is poking his head into business that is not his."

"My business is his business," Stiles says.

"Is it now?" she says, taking a few steps back. "I _have_ always wanted a puppy of my own. And I am not stupid, Stiles, you cannot fool me. I know he is not really yours, is he? As much as you may want, and as much as I am trying to help. So if something happens, you will get over it."

She starts to walk away and he yells at the top of his lungs. " _Stay the fuck away from him._ "

The faerie turns back to him, mouth open to spew out some other threat, but then she snaps it shut and looks down the hall past Stiles. She laughs. "Oh, this is about to get fun. If he cannot catch me, maybe I will get your puppy first."

And then she sprints down the hall, taking her ethereal ball of light with her.

As soon as it's far enough away from Stiles, he falls to his knees on the hard floor, no longer being held into place.

"Stiles!" 

Stiles glances up and sees Jackson and Danny running down the hall towards him. Stiles gets to his feet, with help from Danny, who grabs and pulls him up.

Stiles asks, "Where'd you guys come from?"

"We were in the training room doing some extra weights," Danny says, "and then Jackson got all weird and said that your heart was annoying, and then we heard you yelling."

Stiles looks at Jackson, but Jackson is staring down the hall. "Jackson?"

He turns to Stiles, and it takes everything in Stiles to not flinch away as the yellow slitted eyes of the Kanima stare back at him. Green starts to ripple across the skin of Jackson's neck, looking scaly.

"Jackson, no," Stiles says. Jackson has pretty good control of his lizard half, and as far as Stiles knows, only brings it out while deep in the woods and training with Derek and the rest of his pack. While he's not under anyone's control anymore, the werewolves are able to keep it in check, usually. But he's still dangerous and a killer lizard, more animalistic and out of control than the wolves ever are. It's not good for Jackson to shift into it while in the general populous, even if it is a nearly empty school.

Jackson asks, in the deep, slithery voice of the Kanima, "What is it?"

"Nothing," Stiles says quickly. "Nothing, I'm fine."

Without blinking, Jackson looks down at Stiles' chest, then back up at his face. His eyes have gone even more yellow, and all of his skin has taken on a green tone. There are patches of scales on his arms, neck, and across one cheek.

Jackson says, "You are afraid. And there is something else here." He looks back down the hallway. "It threatened you."

"She," Stiles says. "The faerie. But it's okay, I'm fine now."

"Okay," Danny says, nodding. Danny is a pillar of calm usually, but he's looking worriedly at Jackson -- he knows it's best that Jackson doesn't shift right now either. "Look, let's all calm down, and maybe we should just talk to Derek about what you saw."

"Derek," Stiles says. At the name, Stiles' heart starts pounding again, and a sweat breaks out across his skin. Derek. Derek. _DerekDerekDerek._ It's like a mantra through his head, unlike anything quite like before, and he's _worried_. Concerned. He needs to get to Derek, immediately.

He tried to brush past Danny, but then Jackson grabs Stiles' arm. His claws are out, but he doesn't push them into Stiles' skin, and they don't have their paralyzing slime on them. Yet.

Stiles looks right at Jackson, and he can't help but say, "She said she was going after Derek."

Jackson roars, and he takes off like a shot down the hallway. Stiles catches a glimpse of the large lizard tail disappearing around the same corner the faerie had taken just a minute before. She's not too far ahead. Maybe Jackson will be able to keep her from getting to Derek, or anyone else.

Beside him, Danny sighs. "Did you have to set him off like that?"

Stiles ignores the dig. "I have to go. I have to get to Derek right now. Right now, Danny." He tried to push past Danny again, but this time it's Danny that stops him. Stiles tried to brush him off. "Look, Danny, I have to go _now_."

"I'll take you," Danny says, and holds his hand out. "Your keys."

"Danny--"

"Your keys. I'm not releasing you out into the wild in this state either. Jackson is enough."

Stiles huffs but hands over his keys, and they hurry out of the school. Stiles is grateful that Danny doesn't push him for any information, and only pays enough attention to the traffic laws to not get them pulled over.

\---

Danny pulls the jeep up in front of the Hale house, and there is a dim light shining in what Stiles thinks is the livingroom window. Stiles knows that a lot of the main construction is done, but there still isn't any electricity yet, so it's probably a few candles or something. After practice, Derek's pack was meeting him out here. Training, strategising, infusing the house with their werewolf scent, Stiles doesn't know. He doesn't care right now. He texted Derek to warn him to watch out for faeries and kanimas, but to stay put until Stiles showed up. Hopefully Derek listened. 

Stiles immediately jumps out and starts yelling for Derek at the top of his lungs. He's going to go hoarse by the time the night is done with all this yelling, but he doesn't even care.

It's only a couple of seconds before Derek appears on the porch of the house, hurriedly taking the stairs and stalking towards Stiles. Stiles barely registers the rest of the pack filing out.

"What the hell, Stiles?" Derek asks. He looks angry, but Stiles knows him well enough now to know it's genuine concern behind that frown.

Stiles totally gets how he feels.

"Oh good," Stiles breaths out. He throws his arms around Derek. "You're okay." He squeezes tighter, trying to get as close to Derek as he possibly can. He already starts feeling better, less panicked than a moment before.

"I told you," he hears Erica say, "they aren't pretending anymore."

"Shut up," Derek says. He pulls away from Stiles, and doesn't even bat an eye when Stiles lets out a sad whimper. He keeps his hands on Stiles shoulders, but looks him over. Probably for injuries.

"I'm fine," Stiles says. "I was just ..."

"Worried?" Derek asks. He nods his chin towards Stiles' shoulder. "You have glitter all over you."

Stiles glances down and sees a perfect glittery handprint on the front of his shoulder, right where the faerie had caught him from falling over.

The back of Derek's hand brushes over Stiles' cheek before it drops and he squeezes Stiles' arm. "It's on your face too."

Stiles nods. "She confronted me. Like, full faeried-out."

Derek's hand tenses. "What did she say?"

"Basically, stay out of her business. She knows we're researching her. Something about finding happiness, and she means with my dad, and me finding happiness as part of the plan and then she threatened to go after you. I think she knows we’re not, you know.” Stiles feels stricken. "Oh my god, what if she doesn't stop until she's hurt you. Or killed you. Punishment, or something. This is all my fault."

Stiles hears the rest of the pack growl, but Derek keeps eye contact with Stiles. He shakes his head. "Not your fault, Stiles."

Stiles pushes closer to Derek, feeling his body heat, even in the chill of the night air. "She's not allowed to have you."

"She won't," Derek says, and lets Stiles put his arms around him again.

"This is what happened to you, isn't it? The other day."

Stiles can feel the side of Derek's head brush against his when he nods. "I think so. So you're going to be a bit ..."

"Clingy?" Stiles says, resting his chin on Derek's shoulder. He looks at the rest of the pack; Boyd, Isaac, and Erica are standing on the front porch, looking down on them. Boyd has a mild look on his face, like he's not at all surprised, and both Isaac and Erica are smirking. Stiles sighs. "Oh my god. I'm going to be so embarrassed by this tomorrow, aren't I? And they'll never, ever let this go."

Erica grins. "Nope."

Stiles sighs again. "Great. Can't wait."

"And you and Jackson?" Derek asks. It takes Danny answering for Stiles to realise the question was to him.

"We were at the school working out, Jackson got weird and said Stiles was in distress, and then ran down the hall. I followed him, and saw a bright light for a second before it was gone, and then Stiles freaking out."

"I was not freaking out," Stiles says.

"Right, not freaking out, but acting freaky," Danny says. "And then Jackson got all Kanima weird, and took off after where the light went."

"The faerie," Stiles said.

"Right, whatever," Danny says. "But Jackson shifted and took off, so there's also that to deal with."

From around the side of the house, a voice croaked, "I'm fine."

They all looked over and saw Jackson, naked as the day he was born, walking into the front yard. Immediately, Boyd went into the house, but was back in a second with a blanket that he threw towards Jackson. Jackson caught it and wrapped it around himself.

"I don't want that back," Derek says.

Jackson snorts. "How come I don't get to keep my clothes when I shift?"

"Too hard when you have a tail," Stiles says. He let go of Derek enough so that he could turn and face Jackson, but he stayed right next to him so that their arms were pressing up against each other. Derek's tolerating it, but probably only because Stiles already had to do the same thing with him on the weekend. It makes Stiles feel warm and content that they're on the same page with dealing with each other's annoyances.

Jackson ignores Stiles' comment. "I didn't catch it. I followed the scent of girly flowers, but I didn't even see it. It didn't come anywhere near here."

"Where'd you follow the scent to?" Derek asks.

"Almost all the way downtown."

Ms. Morrell's apartment is towards downtown, but the faerie is probably smart enough to change back to Ms. Morrell before getting there. It probably doesn't care about the scent trail too much, because it isn't like the werewolves were able to do anything about it before. Stiles can't help but wonder what happens to Ms. Morrell when she wakes up as herself again, and maybe if she finds herself not where she remembered last being.

Derek nods, but doesn't say anything. "All right. Well," he says, turning to his pack, "I think this is the end of our meeting." He digs his car keys out of his pockets, and throws them to a delighted Isaac. "Drive you three home. I'll take these three in the jeep."

"We won't wait up," Isaac says. Jackson flips him the bird and makes a disgusted face at Derek and Stiles.

"Can you take us to the school?" Danny asks. "We left sort of abruptly, and my homework's still there. So is Jackson's car."

"And another set of clothes," Jackson says.

"Sure," Derek says, and grabs Stiles' hand to tug him toward the jeep.

"I'd like this to be over soon," Stiles says. Derek's unnaturally still for a moment, and then tries to detangle his hand from Stiles'. Stiles won't let go -- he doesn't _want_ to let go, ever. _That's how you feel right now because you're faerie drugged_ , Stiles thinks to himself. _Try to remember that_. But it's not how he feels, and he can't help but say out loud, "I'd like that thing to stop targeting me and the people I care about. Jesus, she's annoying."

Derek goes still again, but squeezes Stiles' hand again. He doesn't seem angry about it when he finally gets Stiles to let go of his hand, because he just gently pushes him to the passenger side of the jeep. "I'm driving."

"Okay," Stiles says, and he doesn't even mind that Derek is the one taking over his vehicle. It really must be the faerie dust.

\---

"You should go take a nap," Derek says as he pulls up to the Stilinski house. "You'll feel like yourself afterwards."

"Is that what happened to you?" Stiles asks. He's been relatively good on the drive, and only reached out twice to touch Derek's arm after they dropped off Jackson and Danny, but it's getting to him now. He wants to be closer, and it's taking everything in him to not just jump across the front bench and land in Derek's lap.

Derek nods. "Yeah."

"Come in with me," tumbles out of Stiles' mouth before he gets the chance to stop it. He winces, and Derek doesn't even look at him. "I mean ... you know how it is. I'm not going to, like, rest easy if you're not there. I can't -- don't go anywhere just yet. Oh my god, I can't believe I'm saying all this."

Derek finally smiles, and looks at him. "I have to say, I feel a bit vindicated right now."

"What, now that it's my turn to make an ass out of myself? Not that you made an ass out of yourself," he adds quickly when Derek's face closes off. "You were perfectly fine, just -- boyfriendy, and here I am, clingy like a stupid spider monkey, or something. It's not fair. God, it's not fair. And in front of your pack! And what did Erica mean when she--"

"Stiles," Derek says, cutting him off. "That happened in front of your Alpha. And I'm different than you, normally, so of course we would act differently when ..."

"Bombed with faerie dust?"

"Yeah."

"Is this your attempt to make me feel better?"

"Yes."

"You're crap at it. Crap, okay?" Stiles throws his hands up in the air, but he can't help but smile, because Derek is _trying_ and that, at least, is comforting.

"That part probably won't ever change."

"Points for effort, I guess," Stiles agrees. Then stops to think about it, and his heart starts pounding again, but in a good way. "What do you mean, ever? Like, do you expect to have to do it again?"

Derek opens the door to the jeep to let himself out. "Come on, Stiles," he says, surprisingly quiet. "Let's get you inside so you can sleep it off."

Right. Sleep it off. Because all this word vomit is because of some faerie. Damn her, damn her for trying to ruin things for Stiles and making him act like an idiot. He had this covered, things were fine and him and Derek were cruising along at a pretend-pace, and she had to mess it all up.

Stiles sighs, but gets out of the jeep and lets him and Derek into the house. Stiles' dad is there, already home from work, but aware that Stiles was going to be late. He shoots Stiles a very unimpressed look.

"Detention again, Stiles? And you think this should mean you're allowed to have your boyfriend over? Derek should go home."

Stiles' heart starts pounding again, panicked, at the thought of Derek leaving. Of him being out there were the faerie is. Stiles is very happy to see that his father is here, safe, and not glittered bombed himself, but that doesn't make it any easier to think of Derek being away either.

Thankfully, Derek steps in. "Stiles has an English test later this week. Shakespeare. I was going to help him study."

"No fun, Dad, none at all. Just school work, I promise," Stiles says, easily following along. It's also true, about the test, so maybe Derek really does listen when Stiles talks.

Stiles' dad still doesn't look impressed, but points to the kitchen table. "Fine. Sit there and study. Nothing else."

"Dad, we're going to go up to my room," Stiles says. Falling asleep at the table will not be comfortable, and pretty awkward in snuggling up to Derek is his dad is there.

"Stiles--"

"The game, Dad," Stiles says quickly. "I know you want to watch it live, it's on soon, and it will be a distraction to me _and_ Derek if we can hear it. I mean. I got detention, I shouldn't be allowed to watch the game."

Finally, Stiles' dad looks slightly impressed, but probably because it's a really good excuse. He also looks torn, like he knows him letting his son upstairs with his boyfriend is not proper punishment for getting detention, but not being able to watch the game is punishment to himself.

"Keep the door open," he finally says. Stiles nods quickly and grabs Derek's hand, a feeling of warmth flushing through his whole body, and they go up the stairs before his dad can stop them.

"Quick thinking," Derek says once they're in Stiles' room. He very pointedly keeps the door wide open.

"That happens sometimes," Stiles says casually, and he pulls his books out of his bag. He dumps them at the foot of the mattress, and flops himself down on it so his head is there and his feet bang against the headboard. He pulls down a pillow and bunches it under his head, and glances up at Derek. Derek's standing in the same spot, his hands flexing in loose fists at his sides. Stiles sighs. "Come on, no biggie, promise. It'll help."

Derek nods, and flops down on the bed too, but so that he's leaning against the headboard and his feet are down by Stiles' head.

Stiles rolls his eyes and makes an exaggerated _ugh_ noise. "Stinky feet. Come on, man. Get down here."

Derek doesn't move for a moment, but then heaves a heavy sigh and shifts around so that his head is down at the bottom of the bed. He mirrors Stiles' position, a pillow bunched under his head.

"I have thanked you for all this, right?" Stiles says, feeling particularly generous, since he feels guilty that Derek is so inconvenienced. Stupid faerie dust.

"Yep," Derek says. "I'm not going to forget it either. You owe me."

"Ha, yeah right!" Stiles says. "After all I've done for you and your pack? I think we're pretty even after this."

"Go to sleep, Stiles," Derek says.

Stiles does feel very tired, suddenly, and nods his head against the pillow. His school books are ignored, left unopened on the covers, but at least the pretence is there if his father comes to check on them. His eyes close, surprising him with how heavy they feel, like he couldn't keep them open if he tried now that he's lying down. Just as he's about to drift off, he feels himself move closer to Derek, as there's some sort of gravitational pull driving him. Derek doesn't pull away, doesn't push him away, but after a moment, slips an arm around Stiles and keeps him close. It feels warm, and safe, and Stiles is happy that Derek is there. It's easy to fall to sleep then.

\---

"Stiles, Stiles, come on. Wake up."

This seems very, very familiar. It's a dream Stiles has had before, a few times, and he thinks that it was even reality once. He's curled up into Derek's body, arms around him, and comfortable and sleepy.

"What?" Stiles mumbles.

“Stiles.”

There's a new voice that pierces through Stiles' sleepy mind. It's his dad, and it's enough to jerk Stiles fully awake. Reaction after sleeping through his alarm so often over the years; it means Stiles must _really_ wake up now.

He pulls away from Derek a little, who is still on the bed and turned towards him, so at least his back is to the door. He's awake, though. Glancing up, Stiles sees his dad standing just inside his bedroom door, hands on his hips.

"Deja vu, holy crap," Stiles says.

"At least you haven't fallen to the floor," his dad says. "The game is only half over, but if you're going to get any homework done and get a proper sleep, I suggest you get up. Now."

It's not about homework or sleep, that much Stiles gets. At least his dad isn't freaking out too much, and them leaving the door open probably helped. But Stiles nods and says agreeably, "I'll go sit at my desk."

His father is quiet for a moment, but nods. "Good." Thankfully, he goes away without further comment, but he does leave the door wide open.

They're quiet for a moment, and Derek asks, "How do you feel?" It brings Stiles back into the moment, and he's more consciously aware that he's still in bed, and Derek's arms are still around him as they lay facing each other. Derek hasn't moved away yet.

"Fine," Stiles says.

It's not a lie, so Derek probably doesn't pick up on it. Because Stiles does feel fine; he doesn't feel so panicky, and as Derek moves away from him and off the bed, it's not like Stiles feels compelled to pull him back down or jump him or anything.

But he _wants_ to, just the same. He wants to be close to Derek, hold him and be held by him. And, oh god, he wants to kiss Derek more than anything. They only did that once, and it's just something that really, really needs to be done again. And not because Stiles feels like he's been hit up by faerie dust. Because that's gone, it truly is.

It's because Stiles _wants_ to.

He wants Derek.

Oh crap.

\---

Scott huffs, and has a concerned look on his face. "Stiles, will you just tell us what's wrong already?"

"Ugh," Stiles grunts.

Allison exchanges a look with Scott, and then pats Stiles on the knee. "Come on. You brought us out here for a reason, right? Don't you want to tell us?"

"Yes. No. God, I don't really want to but I _have_ to," Stiles answers. He all but flings himself back onto the soft green grass on the far side of the lacrosse field.

It's lunch period and Stiles has dragged both Scott and Allison to sit outside. Luckily, it's a nice fall day out with no chill to the air yet. He's picked this spot because there's nobody else around, and hopefully supernatural hearing won't extend this far, especially if no one is even paying any attention. Stiles really, really doesn't want anyone to hear this -- not the faerie-via-Ms. Morrell, or any of Derek's pack, or whatever. This is Stiles' business with his own pack. He needs to confess to them. They need to know, and hopefully they'll give him advice on how to deal with this.

Stiles stares up at the blue skies and mans up.

"I like Derek."

When neither Scott nor Allison say anything, Stiles lifts his head and looks at them. They're both sitting calmly, and it doesn't look like there's about to be any yelling and there isn't any confusion, like they've just _accepted_ it or something.

Stiles can't stand it. "Well?"

"Well what?" Scott asks. "We already know. It's okay ... well, not _okay_ , it's still Derek, but yeah. Okay."

Stiles pushes his torso up off the ground, his hands on the grass just behind him holding himself up. "What do you mean, you already know? I haven't told you."

Allison gives a sympathetic smile. "It's pretty obvious."

"No, I mean -- not us being allies and getting along for the greater good of our packs," Stiles says. "I mean I _like_ Derek. In the sort of way where I would like to date him. And bone him. But mostly, like, have him as a boyfriend. But with boning. Lots of it."

"Oh god, stop," Scott says, making a face. "I don't want to hear about it. No details."

"That's what I'm talking about," Stiles says, "there are no details to tell."

"So you guys haven't gone that far. That's okay," Allison says.

"Just don't tell us about it when you do," Scott adds.

"No, wait, you're not listening. I like Derek, but we haven't even gone as far as dating."

"Dude," Scott says, "you've been dating for weeks."

"I mean for real," Stiles says.

"So do we," Allison says. When Stiles looks at her incredulously, she just shrugs. "Look, at the beginning you guys told us to go along with it and not bring it up anymore, and we didn't. But then you both started acting -- well, we thought you'd come to the decision that you really _are_ dating and just didn't bother to mention it because no one is supposed to be mentioning that it isn't, you know, real. And it didn't matter anymore because it was."

"We didn't mention it's real because it _isn't_ real," Stiles stresses.

"Oh," Scott says.

"Oh? _Oh_? That's all you have to say?" Stiles asks. "You're not ... surprised? Or mad? Or all alpha-possessive and want me to stay away from him, because I do want it to be real?"

Scott shrugs. "Yeah, but that lasted for, like, twenty seconds when this all started. I'm over it now."

"You'd be happy for me if Derek was my boyfriend?"

"I'd be happy for you to have a boyfriend that makes you happy," Scott says. Allison hides her grin as she looks fondly at Scott and his inability to admit anything good about Derek, but she nods in agreement.

Stiles raises an eyebrow. "Even if that boyfriend was Derek?"

Scott sighs, and huffs, and picks at a blade of grass. But he nods and looks Stiles right in the eyes. "Yeah, even then."

Stiles starts to grin, because seriously, he has the best pack ever. But the grin drops and he flops back on the grass with a sigh. "Doesn't matter, though. Because he's not my boyfriend, not really, and once this faerie business is all over, he'll go back to barely tolerating me."

"I don't think so," Allison says. "I think it's a mutual thing. That's why we all think you guys are actually dating."

Stiles' hearts thumps in his throat at the hope of it. "All of you?"

"Yep," Allison says. "Lydia does, and I'm pretty sure Derek's pack does too. We all do."

"It's the faerie," Stiles says. "It makes him act weird around me, that's all. Makes him act like he wants to be there."

"That was just once," Scott says. "Wasn't it?" Stiles nods. Scott adds, "And did the same thing just happen to you?"

"Yeah."

Allison picks up on the line of reasoning, and relieves Scott of it. "So, then you're saying that you feel the way you do because of the faerie?"

Stiles immediately shakes his head. "No. No, I finally admitted to myself that it was there before. I think I was trying to ignore it, but ... yeah. It's there."

"Well, the same could be for him," Allison says. Stiles is about to open his mouth up in argument but Allison doesn't give him the chance. "He came to board games night, and he didn't really have to if he didn't want to hang out with you. It's not like he has to put on a show for the rest of us."

"It's been easier for us to pretend in public when we got to know each other a little bit more. But that doesn't mean he wants to date me," Stiles counters.

"Is this... is this a weird thing because of Lydia?" Scott asks.

Stiles sits up straight and stares at Scott. "What? I'm over her. Totally."

"I know, but when you did like her ... you were so convinced, so confident, that it would happen," Scott says. He's being gentle, and sweet, and Stiles both wants to hug him and punch him in the face for it. But Scott ... well, Scott put up with Stiles' crush on Lydia for a long time, so he knows better than anyone, Stiles included. "So, because it didn't happen ... is this why you're fighting the Derek thing?"

"Fighting? I'm not fighting anything."

"Yeah, but you're coming up with every excuse in the book why it couldn't be a thing, aren't you?" Scott asks. "For why he couldn't like you. Which is stupid, because he's totally trading up with you. He's the one who should be worrying you wouldn't want him."

Allison grins and gives an approving look. "Maybe he is. Maybe he's thinking the exact same thing you are."

Stiles blinks at them. "You're both being very wise. Where did that come from?"

Scott nods solemnly. "I learned from the best."

Stiles looks at Allison. "You're very wise, thank you for passing that on to Scott."

Scott laughs. "I meant you, idiot." And then he flings himself at Stiles and Stiles' back hits the ground hard, but he grunts out a laugh. They wrestle across the grass, and Stiles gives back as hard as Scott -- who, admittedly, doesn't throw his entire strength into it, but it's better for Stiles' well being that way. By the time they both collapse to the ground, the warning bell rings, and they scramble up to get back to the school.

They don't talk about it more, other than Scott bumping his shoulder against Stiles' and saying, "Don't worry about it, man," and Allison giving them both a smile.

Stiles knows he probably will, but he's glad to have them on his side.

\---

It's a rare day that Stiles doesn't have anything after school, with no practice or detention. He calls his dad after classes, and his dad is going to be home for supper, so Stiles says he'll cook something. That gets a grumble from his dad, because Stiles tends to try healthier options when he does this, but he doesn't protest too much.

On the way home from school, Stiles makes a stop at the supermarket to pick up some groceries. He's outside, carrying a couple bags of food and whistling to himself, swinging his keychain around his fingers, when he notices someone standing by his car. It's Chris Argent, leaning against the jeep as if he's been waiting for Stiles.

"Hi," Stiles says as he approaches. "Are you stalking me? Going to warn me against dating Derek? I didn’t let you do that part.”

"Do I need to?" Mr. Argent asks, standing up straight. He's always been rather intimidating, but the truce with the werewolves has made that dissipate, even if just a little.

"Nope," Stiles says. "Wouldn't listen anyway."

"Thought as much. I hope you know what you're doing."

Stiles feels a little less sure of that now than when he saw Mr. Argent before, but he nods anyway. "Yep, sure do. Well, other than that needing more information about --" he looks both ways askance "-- that little problem we told you about."

"That's why I'm here. Just learned some information, and saw your jeep while driving by."

"That could be anyone's jeep," Stiles points out as he opens the door and puts his bags in.

"Guess I lucked out," Mr. Argent says.

"Hope you did on some information, too. Get the ritual info?"

Mr. Argent shakes his head. "My contact is still trying to track that down, but he thinks he's close."

"All right, then what do you have for me?"

"A little info about what you were calling 'being glitter-bombed'."

This makes Stiles freeze in spot, and he tries not to show how anxious he is to hear about that. Mr. Argent seems to pick up on it anyway, which isn't surprising at all. He raises an eyebrow and asks, "Any more problems with it?"

Stiles doesn't see the point in holding anything back, although he's not going to tell Mr. Argent _everything_. He nods, though. "Uh, happened one more time. Everything was fine, but yeah. She's using it for some sort of advantage."

"Apparently it's a side effect. As mentioned, their power is greatly reduced than what it once was. They used to be able to hold a lot of influence over mortals; it was how they were able to lure them away. But nowadays, they can't just make someone feel something that isn't there, not without draining themselves nearly completely. They use feelings already there to try to gain influence, but the glitter and flowers happen when she does. At least, with this particular faerie, that's her side effect. Could be different with other ones."

Stiles pauses and let's it sink in. He mulls it over in his brain a moment, and then says. "That faerie trap I walked in to."

"It had to be pre-planned. That would've taken a lot of her energy."

"There were no previous feelings there. I swear," Stiles says, holding up his hands. "Not even a crush on her, nothing."

"She's still able to influence the feelings of others," Mr. Argent says. "And if you and your boyfriend were there, I suspect she still used her power to distract you from what her plans were."

They had already figured that out, sort of, but it felt good to have it confirmed. At least, more confirmed than anything Stiles had been able to find. But it wasn't entirely correct -- Derek and Stiles, they hadn't had feelings for each other at the time. Not the romantic, oh-my-god you must be safe and happy sort of feelings that ... that they'd both felt since then when faerie bombed.

Stiles closes his eyes. "Oh god."

When he opens them again, Mr. Argent is staring at him. "Everything all right?"

"I ... yes, yes, I'm fine," Stiles says, nodding quickly. "Try to stay out of her reach, don't get glitter bombed, won't be distracted with intense feelings of concern for my boyfriend. Got it."

Argent nods. "And if the real target is the Sheriff, she's using it as a way to make whatever feelings he has for her stronger. Well, not her, but the real person she's possessing. Stiles, is he dating this person?"

"Not that I'm aware," Stiles says. "But they know each other. But I don't think -- it's not like _that_."

"He could like her, even platonically, or maybe even be a bit more fond of her than other women, and the faerie picked up on that and is trying to use it. It's probably why she hasn't ensnared him yet -- it's not as strong as it should be. And it could be why she's able to influence you, or lure you to her faerie trap, because your father loves you and you're an extension of him. Look, Stiles, if you told me who it is--"

"No," Stiles says immediately. "No. I don't want you to go all hunter on her ass."

"I'm not going to do anything--"

"No," Stiles says again. "We'll wait to find out what the ritual is, and then we'll take care of it. There's a human woman in there who I’m pretty sure has no idea any of this is happening and it's not fair to, like, kill her if there's another way."

Mr. Argent pauses for a moment. "Are you sure? This is your father she’s going after."

"Yes," Stiles says. And then he thinks about his father, and he thinks of Ms. Morrell, who is pleasant and nice, tries to help students and has genuine concern about them. "And my father wouldn't want an innocent civilian getting hurt because of him."

"All right," Mr. Argent says, nodding. "If that's what you want."

"For now, yes," Stiles says, a little surprised that Argent isn't pushing it more.

"I'll get to you as soon as I know about the ritual," Argent says, and he starts to walk away. He looks over his shoulder. "I trust you'll pass this on to Derek?"

"Oh, yes," Stiles says. "Right away."

\---

Stiles pulls his jeep up in front of the Hale house for a second evening in a row. As soon as Mr. Argent was gone and Stiles got into his jeep, he had texted Derek to see where he was. They didn't have plans to get together that day -- Stiles suspected Derek was giving them space after the weirdness of the glitter bombs -- but Stiles needs to see him now. There was a lot of thinking on the drive between the supermarket and the woods the Hale house is located in. Stiles has a plan.

Derek doesn't come out of the house to greet Stiles this time, but he probably doesn't think that it's a dire emergency. Stiles hadn't acted that way and he's not screaming at the top of his lungs now. But his heart is thumping stupidly fast and probably gives him away. He doesn't care. He needs to put this out there.

"In here," Derek calls out when Stiles goes in the front door.

Stiles takes a quick look around -- the house is, essentially, reconstructed. Nice flooring isn't laid down yet, and all the walls are white and bare with some small wires sticking where outlets need to be installed, but it’s basically done. Stiles is careful to step over some construction tools and follows the light shining through an open archway. He walks into what is clearly a livingroom. There is one grey folding chair in the center, and a battery powered lantern sitting on the floor next to it. Derek is sprawled out on a dusty blanket next to them both, a book open in front of him.

"Hey," Stiles says. He sits down next to the blanket, cross-legged.

"Hi," Derek says, and he pushes himself off his stomach and shifts around so that he's in a sitting position that mirrors Stiles'. There's dust all over the front of his jeans and tight t-shirt, and Stiles can't stop his eyes from roaming over it. Derek doesn't seem to read anything into it though, and casually asks, "So, what's up?"

Stiles' eyes snap up to Derek's face. "I just ran into Chris Argent. He passed on some information about our faerie problem."

Derek seems a bit more interested now. "The ritual?"

Stiles shakes his head. "Nah, he's still working on that. But he knows what the glitterbomb thing is all about." And with that, Stiles takes a moment to tell Derek about it, although so far he's left out the already-existing-feelings part about it. He's working his way up to that.

When he's done, Derek nods. "It's what we suspected, right? Well, after our -- incidents. And that time when she was with your dad and he discovered us.

 _Kissing_ , Stiles adds on but only in his own head. He likes thinking about that day a lot now. The one time he and Derek kissed, and how much he wants it to happen again.

Derek goes on, unaware of Stiles’ thoughts. "She's using her power to influence people."

"Yeah, she is. But there's a catch." Stiles pauses for a moment, working himself up to it. "She can only use it on feelings that already exist."

Derek goes still, unknowingly mimicking Stiles' reaction when Argent told him. "What?"

"So, if she's after my dad, it must be because she picked up on some sort of feelings my dad has for Ms. Morrell. Like, it could totally be innocent, though. In the summer, we had this meeting with her a couple weeks before school was in session, but I guess the guidance councilor gets sucked into working early. Anyway, it was about college and me being on the right track about it. And my dad was really appreciative about it, and he's nice to everyone, so yeah. When I think about it, the weird stuff started happening just after that meeting. So that must've been when he became a target, when she decided she wanted him."

Derek doesn't say anything either way, and Stiles forces himself on.

"And with us -- well, she wasn't after me in the forest like we thought but we did let her think that we were together so she wouldn't take me. Which implies feelings, right? But it hadn’t really worked or whatever. At the time.”

At this point, Derek is looking down at his hands, fingers picking at the inseam of his jeans. Stiles adds, "And then she tried to use it on you. And on me again. And those times, it did work."

Derek finally meets Stiles' gaze, but Stiles hasn't seen him look this simultaneously closed-off and broody in years, at least not with Stiles and definitely not lately. Stiles is starting to learn, though. He knows it's just a defense thing, and Derek won't give anything up unless it's earned. So Stiles is going to be the one who takes the first step here, and he can do that. He can.

"It worked because there were feelings those times." Stiles pauses. "Right? I mean, after a couple weeks of dating--"

"It was supposed to be pretend," Derek says.

Stiles tries not to let the weight of that crush him. "Yeah, it was. But maybe we didn't realise that it stopped being pretending. I mean, everyone else seems to think so."

"This isn't about everyone else."

"No, it's not," Stiles says, frowning. "It's about you and me. And, Derek, come on. We're _dating_."

"Stiles--"

"I like you, okay?" Stiles blurts out, and tries not to get angry at Derek for making this so damn difficult. "I don't know when it happened, but sometime between that day in the forest and last night, it stopped being pretend, or just tolerating, or whatever."

"How do you know it's not just because of the faerie dust?"

"Because it worked!" Stiles says. "It only works if there are already feelings there."

"Even innocent ones?" Derek says. "Appreciative ones?"

Stiles blinks at him, feeling like he was slapped in the face. "Oh, that's ... are we talking about you or me?"

Derek doesn't answer, but only shrugs.

"Oh," Stiles repeats. This is exactly what he'd been worried about earlier in the day -- that he'd have feelings for Derek, but Derek didn't have them back. After speaking to Argent -- and even while worrying about his dad, even though he was more confident about being able to keep him safe now -- Stiles had started to feel a bit of hope about him and Derek.

He should've known better.

"Okay," Stiles says, nodding. "Okay then. So we're -- well, we must be friends or acquaintances at the least, and that's fine. But we're not -- let's break up," Stiles says suddenly. This makes Derek look at him sharply, his jaw clenching tight. Stiles nods more confidently, as it makes more sense with each second that passes. "Not that we're really real, but you know what I mean. It'll be for the best."

"Is that what you want?" Derek's voice is incredibly even, not giving anything away. It's what Stiles needs to know this is the best course of action. It makes sense -- the glitterbomb thing probably doesn't work the same on werewolves, just like Derek couldn't get caught up in the faerie's trap the same way Stiles did.

"We know now she's not after me, so it's not like I have to be protected or anything anymore. And if you don't -- there's no point in making you date me if you don't want to."

"That's not what I meant."

"No, no, it's okay," Stiles says, jumping to his feet, and taking a few steps back. His heart is pounding, and he feels like an _idiot_ , because he _is_ one, but he might be able to salvage the little _friendship_ that he and Derek had forged. "I get it. It's totally cool. No worries."

Derek's gotten to his feet as well, and he steps closer to Stiles. Stiles just backs away more ... not because he really wants to, but because it's getting harder to breath and he needs to get away from this mess.

"Thanks for all your help," Stiles says. "You didn't have to, but you did. That's awesome, but I'll be able to take it from here. I'll look out for my dad, and when Argent gets more info, I'll handle it. Don't worry about it."

"You don't have to do this alone," Derek says.

"I won't be. I'll fill Scott and Allison in. We'll handle it," Stiles says on the fly, but as far as sudden ideas go, it's a good one. Unlike coming here and confronting Derek. "Okay, I'm going to go. Bye, Derek."

"Stiles, would you just--" When Stiles turns away from Derek, hoping to make an escape as soon as possible, Derek grabs his wrist and spins him back.

"Just shut up for a minute," Derek says.

And then Derek leans in and kisses him.

It's hard and biting, not like when he kissed him as a cover before getting caught. And it shocks the hell out of Stiles, so for a moment, he doesn't move at all, frozen in place by surprise. When he doesn't react, Derek goes still and then starts to pull away.

"No, no, I mean yes," Stiles mumbles as he chases Derek's mouth, and then they're kissing again. And this time they're both into it, pulling each other closer and lips slotting wetly. Stiles' hands settle on Derek's waist, fingers flexing into his shirt and muscles. One of Derek's hands clamp on the back of Stiles' neck, making sure he doesn't squirm away -- not that Stiles has any intention of doing so -- and the other splays on the small of his back.

They kiss like they've done this a million times before but haven't for a really long time. It's desperate and crazy, as if they're trying to crawl inside each other, get as close as possible. Stiles' mouth falls open and Derek's tongue slides in, caressing over Stiles' and licking as if he's trying to do all he can to grab hold of Stiles' taste and never let go. He pulls away with a slick _pop_ , though their lips are brushing against each other.

"Wait, wait," Derek says roughly, though his grip on Stiles is ironclad, like he's not willing to let go.

"Derek, come on," Stiles says, and pushes his hips against Dereks. He has to bite back a moan, and thinks that Derek does the same.

"We can't -- not that," he says when Stiles starts to make a face in protest, because if Derek thinks he's turning his back on Stiles now he can freaking forget it. Derek nips at Stiles' lips and takes a step away. They both still have their hands on each other. "I mean -- we made a promise to your dad."

Stiles blinks at him. " _What_?"

"About, you know, not getting too -- physical," Derek says.

"You have _got_ to be shitting me," Stiles says, breathless and irritated. "That was pretending!"

"And now that we're not, don't you think we should really follow the rules?"

"No way -- wait, what?" Stiles says, Derek's words catching up in his brain. "We're not pretending? But you--"

"I thought maybe it was still a side effect of the faerie dust. That maybe Argent got it wrong, and you didn't really ... But then when you said we didn't have to date..." Derek trails off and shrugs.

Stiles' bright smile could light the whole house, he swears it could. It turns a bit smug, too. "You didn't want to stop dating, even if it was pretend. Because you like me, and want to be with me. You want me."

There's a bit of a smile tugging at Derek's lips, even though he's clearly trying to squash it down so that Stiles doesn't see. "Yeah, okay."

" _Yeah, okay?_ That's your grand declaration of feelings for me?"

Derek nods. "Yeah."

"You're lucky I like you," Stiles says, and leans in to kiss Derek again. It's softer, slower this time.

"Yeah, I am," Derek says, agreeing, and finally smiles. He kisses back, and they end up standing in the middle of the empty Hale house making out. It’s freaking awesome. This was part of what Stiles wanted for senior year -- dating _and_ make outs. Hell yeah.

He wants more, and isn’t afraid of letting Derek know that with letting his hands roam lower, but yet again, Derek carefully disengages. Thing is, Stiles knows it’s not because he’s disinterested -- he’s clearly very, very interested -- but that’s okay. Stiles can work with this. 

Derek pecks one more quick kiss, and steps away. "Look, do you want to go and get something to eat?"

Holy crap, Derek Hale just asked Stiles out on an actual date -- which shouldn’t be surprising at this point, but still catches Stiles off guard. He smiles brightly, but then he slaps his palm to his forehead. "I have plans with my dad, I shouldn't bail on him. And, actually, should probably get going.”

"No worries," Derek says. "Another time."

"The fundraiser! On Friday," Stiles says. "Wanna be my date?"

"Wasn't I supposed to be anyway?"

"Well, officially, it's a date." Stiles presses another kiss to Derek's lips, and man, that is never, ever going to get old. He gets distracted with the taste, and the feel, and now that he can do this, he doesn't want to stop.

He does stop though, but only because Derek pulls away again. "Go," he says. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Hell yeah, you will," Stiles replies. With all the power he has in him, he turns away from Derek. But when he pulls out of the drive, he sees Derek standing at the window. Stiles grins and honks the horn of the jeep, and damn, he feels really good.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five times Stiles and Derek pretend to be boyfriends, and the one time they didn't have to pretend at all. (Or: in which Stiles' plan for senior year is completely ruined by a supernatural creature stalking him.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! I know it's taken many months to get through this, but I'm happy to say this story is now complete. :) Many, many thanks to those who followed along, left kudos and comments and great encouragement. I truly hope any story followers, or new readers who've stumbled across this, enjoy. :)
> 
>  **Warning:** To do the story justice, as well as add in the epilogue and not split this into two parts with more waiting for the ending, this part is 21K long. Just a heads up for readers. :)

"Are you freaking kidding me, Derek? That's not how you cook a steak."

Derek turns to Stiles with an unhappy expression while holding the plastic plate with Mrs. Jenkins' supposedly medium-well steak sitting on it. It's ready -- _supposed_ to be ready -- to give to her so she can make her way down the tables and get herself some corn on the cob or potato salad or whatever her heart contents that the lacrosse team was able to get together that day for their Barbeque For BowFlex Fundraiser.

"It's still bloody," Stiles says, taking the plate from him. He checks Derek's hip with his own, dumps the steak back on the grill, and tosses the bloody plate into the trashcan.

"That's how steaks are supposed to be," Derek says, frowning at the grill like the piece of meat cooking mortally offends him or something.

"Not medium-well," Stiles says. He glances over his shoulder. "Sorry, Mrs. Jenkins, just a moment more." Behind her, in the middle of the lacrosse field, her two rug rats are running around in circles, playing tag or maybe 'punch that other kid' or something. That would be so like them.

She smiles kindly. "Not a problem, Stiles. It's a great to see your team putting on this fundraiser. Even if you can't all cook a medium steak." Her eyes are crinkled in the corner as she looks at Derek, amused, and Stiles swears that Derek is trying to hold back a growl. Stiles has to hide his grin.

"Well, Derek's not on the team, so I suppose we can forgive him this once," he says happily. After turning the steak over one more time, he takes it off the grill and puts it on a new plate, handing it to Derek, who in turns gives it to their customer.

"No, he's not, is he?" Mrs. Jenkins says. "But I've seen him around the block recently, yes?"

Derek huffs light enough that only Stiles can hear it; he's already made a complaint or two about Stiles' nosey neighbours, but that's what happens when you don't live in the middle of the woods. Stiles would've thought he'd be used to it, living at the Lahey place for a while now, but apparently he's not a fan of the way people look at him when he stops by the Stilinski house or something. It just makes Stiles laugh, because he knows it doesn't mean anything bad. They're just curious.

"Yes, you have," Stiles answers her. "He'll probably be around for a while."

"Here's hoping, right?" Mrs. Jenkins says, winking at him. Stiles startles out a laugh, and even Derek grins a little. But that drops suddenly in surprise when Mrs. Jenkins lightly places a hand on Derek's forearm. "You look so much like your mother. She was such a sweet lady."

Derek blinks at her, shocked. "I -- yes," he says. "She was." Then he glances at Stiles for a brief moment.

Stiles' heart wants to break right in that second by the look on Derek's face -- still hurt and sad, but proud of his mother, to be her son. All Stiles can think, _feel_ , is that he knows exactly what that's like. He realises they haven't had that talk yet -- serious talks about family that's gone -- but it hits him like a ton of bricks that he thinks for the first time he could be ready to share that with someone who isn't his dad or Scott. And he thinks -- well, Stiles thinks maybe Derek would be okay with that, that maybe he'd share too.

Mrs. Jenkins is completely unaware of the entire moment that's passed between them, but she's smiling and patting Derek's arm. "Thank you for the steak, dears." She turns away from them and calls out at the top of her lungs, "Boys! Come on! Hot dogs!" Her two children run from their game towards the line where the hotdogs are being barbequed, yelling excitedly.

Stiles turns from watching them with a grin on his face, but it falters just a little when he meets Derek's eyes. Derek's watching him intently, and opens his mouth as if to speak, but then he snaps it shut and frowns.

"Derek," Stiles says, but then reaches for the front of Derek's grey t-shirt and pulls him closer. He presses a firm kiss to Derek's lips, keeping his eyes open to watch. Derek does the same. It's just brief, but Stiles can feel Derek's lips start to curve under his, and that's just freaking awesome. Mission accomplished. "Later?" Stiles says, lips still brushing Derek's. Derek nods, and when they pull apart, Derek looks a little more at peace.

"Stilinski!"

Stiles spins around, the coach appearing right next to his and Derek's barbeque with a stern look on his face. "What the hell are you doing?" Coach asks. "This isn't dinner and a show, for crap's sake."

"Well, there _is_ a band setting up," Stiles says, pointing to one end of the lacrosse field, where there's a temporary stage with a band setting up.

"Ugh, Greenburg and the Griefers, who the hell let them be the entertainment?" Coach says, shaking his head.

"You?" Stiles asks.

"Shut your trap, I did not," Coach says. He points a finger at Stiles, then one at Derek. "Get cooking and stop doing ... what you're doing. Other than cooking."

"Right, Coach. We'll get right on that," Stiles agrees.

Coach starts to walk past them, but stops at Derek's shoulder. "Still not much of a talker, huh?"

Derek shrugs. "Not really."

"Well I don't want it to be because your tongue is down Stilinski's throat. Cook!"

Derek blinks at him. "Yes, sir."

"Sir. I like that," Coach says, nodding approvingly. Then he shudders, opens his mouth to say something else but shakes his head as if trying to forget it, and walks away.

Derek turns to Stiles. "Your coach is weird."

"Would you -- don't say that too loud!" Stiles exaggeratedly whispers, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Coach didn't overhear, but he's already stalking towards Greenburg while yelling at him, so they're good there. Stiles nods. "Okay, yeah, he totally is."

Derek turns to look at the other lines at barbeques, to call out if someone needs to a steak to come on over, but then Stiles grabs his arms and squeezes, stopping him. Stiles glares at one of the lines. "Don't you dare, Scott McCall!"

Scott looks at him, startled, but when he looks at who's in his line and who he's about to cook for, he looks abashed.

So does that person.

"Dad!" Stiles calls out. He places one hand on his hip and shakes his finger at his father. "What do you think you're doing?"

Scott and Stiles' dad exchange a look, and Scott says something that appears to be an apology, and then Stiles' dad comes over to his and Derek's barbeque line.

"Okay, first. Scott's line? Really? Are you avoiding me and Derek?" Stiles asks, but he knows that's not true. Not exactly. He rips the voucher out of his father's hands and looks at it. "Just what I thought," he says, waving it around accusingly. "You bought a _veggie dog_ one from me. This says steak. You're not supposed to be eating red meat!"

Stiles' dad gives him a disbelieving look. "Really, Stiles?"

"A veggie dog!" Stiles says. "Where'd you get this?"

"I don't know," his dad deadpans.

Stiles whips his head around to glare at Scott. For his part, Scott is looking everywhere but at Stiles, whistling a little jaunty tune while cooking a steak for someone. For her part, Allison is ducked behind the barbeque _laughing_.

Stiles calls out, "You're not to aid and abet him! He knows better!"

Allison's laughter rings through the air, and Scott's tune falters a little.

Stiles clutches the voucher to his chest. "Sorry, this is invalid. Wrong line. Please go pick up your perfectly delicious and healthy veggie dog from Jackson and Lydia over there." Stiles points.

Derek asks, "So how do you like your steak, Sheriff?"

"Rare," Stiles' dad answers.

Stiles' jaw drops, and points his fingers between the two of them, landing it on Derek. "Are you trying to earn brownie points with my dad?"

"Yep." Derek puts a steak on the grill.

"That's not going to work!" Stiles says.

"Yes, it will," his dad says. "I have absolutely no interest in arresting him right now."

"Excellent," Derek says.

"No. No, not excellent. This is ... this is ... oh my god," Stiles says. "This is a disastrous alliance."

Derek holds a plate out to Stiles, one of those big, beautiful and incredibly rare smiles of his gracing his face.

"You're a jackass," Stiles says flatly, even if his heart is thudding hard enough to thump through his chest.

Derek just keeps smiling.

Stiles' dad laughs at them.

"Ugh," Stiles says, throwing up a hand in the air and pokes at the steak with the tongs. He flips it over for a moment, and when it's done just how he knows his dad likes it, dishes it on the plate. Derek hands it over to Stiles' dad.

"Looks delicious," his dad says.

"Go," Stiles says, waving a hand dismissively. "Go enjoy your arteries being clogged."

"Thanks, boys. Come find me after."

"We will," Derek says, giving the Sheriff a grin.

When his dad is gone, Stiles pokes Derek in the ribs with an elbow. "You need to side with me. I'm the boyfriend."

"Nothing wrong with trying to get brownie points. I need them," Derek says. He takes the tongs back from Stiles. "You should've let me cook the steak."

Stiles snorts. "Yeah right. What's rare to you? Ripping it right off the cow?"

"Well now you're just making me hungry," Derek says.

Stiles laughs, pecks a kiss to his cheek, and goes to take the next voucher. He keeps an eye on Derek's barbequing, but really, it's not that bad. Not at all.

\---

Stiles concludes that this has been a pretty good day.

His friends and him are lounging on the stands beside the lacrosse field. The crowd's died down a little, all the parents and younger children gone home for the evening. Greenburg and the Griefers -- who actually weren't that bad, given what kind of music they play -- had gave it their all and had a crowd of people dancing around their little stage. They're on a break, but there's still speakers playing Top 40s songs, and there are still a bunch of kids from the school loitering around. Somewhere, Coach is counting the money earned and gleefully ordering a new BowFlex, Stiles imagines.

It's a little weird, the way they're all gathered. Not bad, really, but not usual for them either. Not until lately, anyway. Derek's sitting near the top riser leaned back on his elbows, and Isaac's at his side with Erica sitting snugly between Isaac's legs. Stiles is a seat down, his shoulder brushing against Derek's knee every so often. Scott's sitting next to Stiles, and Boyd's on the other side of Scott, and the two of them are in a deep and meaningful conversation about Maroon 5, older music versus new, or something like that. Allison and Lydia are sitting together, bent over Lydia's phone and laughing about something. Danny's there because Jackson's there because Lydia is there, but Danny and Erica are talking about the latest episode of some reality show it turns out they both watch, Isaac occasionally throwing in a comment or two. Jackson's limbs are sprawled out over a couple benches, and he's not participating in any conversation, but he's not scowling or complaining or anything. He looks relaxed for once, and not in a cocky I'm-better-than-you way, either.

Stiles can't help but grin, a good feeling spreading through him. Given that he started his high school career with basically only Scott for a friend, he finds himself a senior and surrounded by a group of pretty cool people -- albeit, mostly unusual and not exactly normal friends, but who would want that anyway?

Derek's toe pushes at Stiles' hip. Stiles turns up at him, and Derek's got a quizzical look on his face. "What?"

Stiles' shrugs one shoulder and grins. "What what?"

"What're you thinking?"

"I don't know, nothing much," Stiles says. He slips a hand around one of Derek's calves, squeezes, and then lets it fall down to circle Derek's ankle. "Kind of a good day, huh?"

One side of Derek's mouth quirks up. "Yeah," he says. He pushes up off his elbows and sits forward, placing one hand between Stiles' shoulder blades.

"Even if you don't know how to grill steak," Stiles says, grinning.

Derek scowls at him, but leans forward. Stiles totally sees the move coming, so he tilts his head so that Derek can kiss him.

Stiles is kissing his boyfriend. At school. In front of people. And that's _awesome_. This year is surprisingly going according to his plans. You know, minus that whole faerie thing, and that Derek hadn't even been close to the list of People to Kiss and Date originally, but now that he's top of the list, there's nothing wrong with that. Nothing at all.

Stiles presses closer, his tongue swiping at the bottom of Derek's. He wants more. He wants all of it--

"Oh my god, _stop_!"

Stiles pulls away and rolls his eyes as he glances over at Scott. Scott looks distinctly horrified.

Derek doesn't move away. He actually seems to press closer to Stiles, so Stiles very visibly wraps his whole arm around Derek's leg, gripping at the knee, and possessively pulling it closer to him. Stiles decides now is a very appropriate time to imitate Derek, and scowls. "What, Scott?"

"Don't -- that -- not where I can see it."

"Then don't look! Talk to Boyd. Their old stuff is way better, by the way, Scott."

"What? That's -- I don't care about that right now," Scott says. He glares up at Derek. "Could you not?"

"What?" Derek says. He does lean back onto his elbows again, but he's smirking. "It's not like I'm doing anything more than I've had to see you do with Allison."

Stiles cannot even help it -- he bursts out laughing. Scott's offended face right now is probably the funniest Stiles has ever seen it, and looking up at Derek, he can see Derek is entirely too amused with himself right then. He exchanges a look with Stiles and winks, and Stiles chuckles some more.

"I don't approve of this," Scott says flatly, pointing a finger between Stiles and Derek. "The making inside jokes thing, and the kissing, and the--"

"Oh come on, Scott," Allison says as she moves up and slips her arms around Scott's neck. Scott stops his rant long enough to press his temple against Allison's lips as she gives him a kiss. "Be happy for them. They're cute."

"Cute? _Cute_? Have you seen him?" Stiles asks, pointing a finger over his shoulder at Derek, and then waving it over himself too. "And, also, _me_. I think hot and godly is the wording you're looking for."

Jackson snorts, and Lydia lightly slaps him on the knee.

Danny nods seriously. "I'll give him that one, actually."

Stiles throws up his hands in the air. "Oh my god, Danny, I _knew_ it. Sorry, missed your chance at my hot, hot self."

"Darn," Danny says mildly. "How ever will I go on?"

Scott shakes his head. "Just -- stop with the--" He waves his hand around. "Mashing of faces thing."

"I will if you do," Stiles says, and Scott's arms squeezes tight around Allison's waist. "Plus, you haven't yelled at Erica and Isaac yet. Have you seen _them_?"

Erica smirks and raises her hand in the air. Isaac high-fives her.

"Also aesthetically pleasing, even if it's not your thing," Danny comments, and Erica laughs and high-fives him too.

"I'm not talking about them," Scott says. "I'm talking about you. And Derek. And--"

"Deal with it, Scott," Derek says, putting an end to Scott's complaining. Derek and Scott glare at each other.

There's a moment of awkward silence, and then Boyd says, "Totally their old stuff."

"I know, right!" Stiles says, waving a hand around. That's enough to get Scott to snap out of it, and he turns big eyes back to Boyd to further argue his point that the new stuff is much better and _why_ , Boyd, why would you say that? Everyone else decides their opinions need to be heard on this too, even Jackson's, and the air is filled with their chatter again. Allison settles at Scott's feet to lean against his legs, and he absently puts a hand on her shoulder while waving his other one around. Allison and Stiles exchange a soft look and Allison reaches out to lightly push at Stiles' leg, while Derek's foot presses into his hip again on the other side, and things have gone right back to being awesome. Scott _will_ deal with it, for Stiles' sake. Stiles knows he will.

Stiles is about to make a really, _really_ good point when something across the lacrosse field catches his eye. His father is standing there and talking rather animatedly -- to Ms. Morrell.

Stiles abruptly stands up. "I gotta go."

"Stiles?" Scott says, frowning. "What's up?"

"Oh, no worries. Just -- my dad's over there. I should go see him. And load our barbeque into the jeep, and --"

"I'll come with," Derek says, starting to make a move to get up.

"No, that's okay," Stiles says, which stops Derek in his tracks with raised eyebrows. "I'll just -- go talk to my dad. Um. But, okay," he adds when Derek finishes standing up and starts down the bleachers, "so can you get the barbeque?"

"Sure," Derek says.

"Talk to you guys later," Stiles says, giving everyone else a little wave. It's a little creepy how the supernatural ones have all gone completely still, heads tilted a little to the side as if trying to pick up on a signal or hear something or whatever. The humans either look mildly confused or aren't paying much attention at all.

"Tomorrow?" Allison says as Stiles hops off the last bench.

He turns around and walks backwards as he nods at her, Derek walking forward beside him. "Yeah, for sure. We're on. Right, Scott?"

Scott slips his arms around Allison's shoulders, resting his chin on top of her head. "We're on." He looks significantly at Derek's back, and Stiles rolls his eyes. Yes, yes, just his own pack. He gets it.

"Later, all." Stiles gives one final wave before he turns around, and the rest of their friends all say their own goodbye, sliding back into conversation with each other. It helps that a new Maroon 5 song starts playing on the speakers, and they all make a cheer and start arguing with each other again.

Lowly so that only Stiles could hear, Derek says, "I'm coming with you."

Stiles shakes his head. "No, no. It's okay. She's not going to try anything in the open. I'll meet you at the jeep, okay? I'm just going to go break up this little party." His dad and Ms. Morrell seem deep in conversation. His dad must be telling one of his ridiculous cop stories from the days he was a young deputy, because his arms are waving and Ms. Morrell is attentively listening, grinning and eyes wide while waiting for the punch line.

"Okay," Derek says, taking the keys Stiles hands him. His hand brushes slightly at the small of Stiles' back, but then he's taking off to the line of barbeques. Stiles isn't worried he won't be right there, because the moment Stiles calls out or is in distress, he trusts that Derek (and probably Scott and the rest of the packs) will be at his side in a second. And that's just not really the sort of scene they should try to set up while in the middle of a school fundraiser.

As Stiles approaches, Ms. Morrell's laugh rings out through the air, and Stiles' dad look amused with himself.

"You're telling the story of IHOP, aren't you?" Stiles says as he approaches. He tries very hard to keep it light, to not worry or panic that the faerie that's gunning after his dad is trapped in the body he's standing right next too. It's disconcerting, but Stiles has experience with covering up supernatural stuff from his dad.

"Easy to tell, huh?" his dad says, smiling.

Stiles grins. "It's an old favourite of yours. Hi, Ms. Morrell."

"Hi, Stiles," she says, smiling. She waves her hand around. "You all did a great job here."

"Thanks. And, you know, thanks for your help with it too," Stiles says, nodding. "Posters and donations and stuff."

She holds up her hands. "All you. I just had some information."

"Yeah. Well, thanks for that."

She smiles. "No problem, I'm happy to have helped."

It's so weird, the way she looks normal and appears like this regular teacher of his. But he remembers the freaky eyes, the unearthly voice. Her words indicating that she wants his father.

Stiles takes a protective step closer to his dad, and all but ignores her when he says, "Derek and I are loading the barbeque. Need a lift home?"

His dad quirks an eyebrow. "No, I came here in my car."

"Oh, right," Stiles says, nodding. "But, right, did you want to hang out tonight or whatever? You and me?"

"I thought you might be busy with your friends. Or Derek."

"Right but, like, I see them all the time and so I was thinking--"

"I should leave you two alone," Ms. Morrell interrupts them, smiling. "But I'll talk to you later?"

Stiles opens his mouth, but it's his dad who gets out an answer first. "For sure. Sunday?"

"Sunday," she says happily. She nods to Stiles. "I'll see you later."

"Right, later," he says distractedly, but watching her turn her back and leaves. When she's far enough away, he says in an urgent whisper. "What's _Sunday_?"

"I was going to talk to you about that," his dad says, putting a hand on Stiles' shoulder.

Stiles tries to stop the thumping of his heart. "What? Talk to me about what?"

"Sunday," his dad says. "And brunch. At that new vegetarian place. It's actually quite good, we went there before--"

" _We_?" Stiles asks, incredulous. He thinks he knows the answer to this, but he'd love to be wrong. He'd love it. "We've never been there."

"No, no, I meant Ms. Morrell and I--"

"Your business lunch," Stiles says flatly. The one the very same day that the faerie attacked Derek in the hardware store _right beside the restaurant_. "Not so businessy?"

"It was completely not serious, just -- you know, you snuck around with Derek--"

"Oh my god, _Dad_. Are you seeing her?" Stiles exclaims. It's like his worst nightmare, and that it _isn't_ just platonic and the faerie really was picking up on something. This isn't good, this is not good.

"Casually," his dad says quickly. "It's just very -- I know that maybe -- it's casual. Nothing serious. It's not like -- it's been a while, you know?"

Stiles feels like a shit son. His dad is clearly worried about how Stiles is going to react to knowing his dad is dating again. And, under normal circumstances, Stiles would do his best to support his dad, as much as it might hurt to know his dad has to move on from his mom. But it makes sense, it's healthy, and all Stiles wants is for his dad to be happy.

But.

Faerie.

Oh god.

"I'm sorry, Dad, I didn't mean -- it's -- yeah." He has no idea what to say; throwing a fit will be counterproductive in every way possible, but he also doesn't want his dad around her until Stiles knows the faerie is taken care of.

"It's pretty new, and we're going very slow, just in case -- I want you to be good with it. I'm an adult and can make my own choices, Stiles, but I need to make sure you're okay about it too."

"Dad," Stiles manages to choke out. He decides to go with the truth. "I just want you happy."

"I know, son," his dad says, and squeezes Stiles' shoulder. It makes Stiles feel even worse. "Let's see how a Sunday brunch with the three of us goes, okay?"

Stiles forces a smile. "Sure. Don't worry, Dad, I'll deal with it my own way."

If his dad wants to date a student councilor that is a million times younger than him -- though Stiles sure isn't going to be bringing up the age thing at any time to avoid having it thrown back in his face -- well, then, Stiles _will_ just have to deal with that, but he'll be damn sure to eliminate the supernatural aspect of it, and as soon as possible too.

"Good," his dad says. "Now, if you're really raring to hang out with your old man, how about a movie or something?"

"Sure," Stiles says immediately, not wanting to let his dad out of his sight until the faerie is _gone_. "Yeah, let's go home and do that."

His dad pauses for a moment. "You can invite Derek, if you want," he says slowly.

Stiles raises an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yes." His dad nods determinedly. "If you're going to come to brunch, the least I can do is watch a movie with you and Derek."

Stiles sort of feels like he's going to throw up -- it's a weird mix of emotions he's going through at the moment; panic, gratefulness, fear, admiration, worry. Having Derek around might be comforting, in a way. Especially if some faerie decided to show up, but also to just help Stiles keep sane.

"I'll ask him," Stiles says, throwing a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the parking lot, where Derek has disappeared too.

"Okay." His dad pauses for a moment. "Look, I know I've had my -- misgivings -- about this whole thing with you and Derek. And for good reasons."

"I know, Dad," Stiles says quickly, "and I appreciate you not making too big a deal out of it, I swear I do."

His dad nods. "I'm trying. But, after today …" He trails off, seeming as if he's trying to find the right words.

Stiles fidgets. "What about today?"

His dad quirks a small, somewhat hesitant smile. "You looked really happy."

Stiles goes still, and blinks. "Um. Yeah, it was a good day."

"I mean, with him. The two of you did." His dad slowly shakes his head, as if having difficulty believing his own words. "You seemed -- to fit together."

Stiles stares at him, unsure what to say. Is thanks appropriate? Whooping and throwing hands in the air because this means his dad won't arrest his boyfriend? Mostly, he's just stunned to get some approval, even if it was a little lukewarm -- which, hey, given Stiles' less than enthusiastic response to hearing about his dad's own dating life, seems fair.

"Okay," his dad says quickly, trying to elevate an awkward moment, "I'll meet you at home then. Come on, let's go."

With that, the two Stilinski men walk toward the parking lot. They pass by the bleachers on the way, where all of Stiles' friends are still sitting. They all call out goodbyes, and Stiles calls back the same. His dad waves, and then looks proudly at Stiles, as if happy that his son has a huge group of friends now. Stiles, despite the unease in his stomach, is pretty happy about that too.

At the parking lot, his dad nods in Derek's direction, who's waiting by the jeep, and then goes to his own car. Stiles approaches Derek, not saying a word, and thumps his head against Derek's shoulder.

"Okay?" Derek says.

"Didn't you hear? The world's a mess," Stiles mumbles, and then stands up straight to pout at Derek.

"Music and crowd was too loud," Derek says, "so I couldn't hear anything."

"It's only slightly creepy that you'd be willing to eavesdrop on a private conversation."

Derek shrugs. "Sometimes I can't help it. But," he says, looking at the bleachers, "it means no one else was either."

"I still don't know if that's a good or bad thing," Stiles says. "Although, if they saw my flailing, they'd probably guess that I'm freaking out that my father is casually dating the school's councilor."

Derek winces. "Crap."

"Yeah. Crap. Even if no one else knows she's really a -- and my dad is nervous that I'll be upset he's dating again! I wouldn't be! Except that, you know, she's actually _you know_." Stiles scrubs a hand over his face and chuckles deprecatingly. "Yep. It's a mess."

"We'll deal with it," Derek says.

"We have to, like, as soon as possible. I'm calling Argent tomorrow, and if nothing is worked out, then I'm having brunch with my dad and his pseudo-girlfriend who happens to be a _faerie_ on Sunday."

"I'll keep an eye on her until then," Derek says, and goes to push himself away from the car. Stiles puts a hand on his chest to stop him.

"Um, actually. How about you keep an eye on the Stilinskis tonight? As in, my dad has invited us to join him to watch a movie." Stiles is suddenly nervous, because Derek has avoided spending time with Stiles' father the whole time this has been going on. Which, really, is understandable, what with the arresting thing a couple of years ago. It didn't bother Stiles before, when it was all pretend -- but now, well. It might be kind of nice to have Stiles' real boyfriend over, and for his dad to invite him over is a huge step. Huge. Especially since it _is_ Derek.

Derek must've picked up on Stiles' nervousness, because he lifts a hand and places it around Stiles' bicep, squeezing gently. He's not smiling, but he doesn't look angry or resistant or anything either. "Sure," he says, nodding. "That'd be fine."

"Really? Okay, cool," Stiles says, grinning. He leans in to give Derek a quick kiss, but it ends up going on a bit longer than that, with Derek leaning back against the jeep and Stiles leaning up against him.

"Oh my god! Stop it, you two!" comes a high-pitched scream that sounds suspiciously like Erica. Stiles breaks apart from Derek far enough to turn his head. Erica's hanging over the top of the bleachers, Isaac holding her hips so she doesn't tumble over, and she's waving her hands around. "Ewww, gross. Look, Scott, it's so gross!"

Scott, for his part, has his head dropped into his hands and is definitely _not_ looking. He yells out, "Just because it's Derek!" Everyone else laughs at him.

Derek ignores them altogether, instead pulling Stiles closer. Stiles isn't going to argue that, kisses him again, but flips everyone else the finger while he does.

\---

When Stiles texts Scott and Allison at the last minute to invite them over to his house to have their little pack bonding time, neither of them have a problem with it. They usually go to Scott's place because his mom understands and welcomes them, and leaves them in peace; Stiles' dad doesn't know anything so it can be risky if they have stuff to discuss, and Allison's dad knows too much and wouldn't approve of the whole pack set-up they have anyway. A quick call through Allison to her dad revealed they are no closer to getting rid of the faerie, and Stiles doesn't want to let his dad out of his sight for the weekend, if at all possible.

"So, not done dealing with it, huh?" Scott says from his spot at the end of the couch, being as stealthy in his wording as possible since Stiles' dad is looking over case files in the dining room.

"Nah," Stiles says, poking at the wires behind the TV. Scott brought his Xbox over. "I mean, some breakthrough since talking to Allison's dad, but nothing much." He looks over at her. "He didn't say anything to you?"

She shakes her head. "He's very determined not to encourage me helping out--" she looks askance at Scott "--you know. Truce or not, I'm supposed to be fighting, not helping."

"Or dating them," Scott says grumpily. Allison's dad made a truce, yes, and tolerates Scott's presence in Allison's life -- probably so he doesn't lose his daughter altogether -- but still isn't that happy about Scott at all.

Stiles nods. "Yeah, but I'm not -- you know. It's for me and my dad."

"Which is why he _is_ helping, I guess."

"Wait," Scott says, sitting up straighter. "Your _dad_. I thought it was about you."

"About Stilinskis, apparently. It was a bit muddled for a while, but yeah, my dad is highly involved now," Stiles says, standing up and going over to the couch to plop himself down right between Allison and Scott. "Not that he knows, of course."

"Of course," Allison and Scott say together.

Scott frowns. "So then the you and Derek thing -- didn't have to be a thing?"

"Scott," Allison hisses. "We talked about this."

"About Scott not being an ass?" Stiles guesses good-naturedly.

"Yeah," Scott says a bit sheepishly, head ducked down. He looks at Stiles through the fringe of his hair. "I don't mean to be! Seriously! It's gotta be instincts and stuff. Sometimes I just get --"

"Territorial?" Stiles suggests.

"Around Derek, yeah," Scott says, nodding. "On a, 'hey, my best bud is dating' level, I'm totally cool with it, I swear. On a wolf pack level, it's still hard to wrap my head around it being _Derek_."

"I know," Stiles says, "but the thing is -- it's real now. You get that, right?"

"Hey, I got it before _you_ did," Scott says, quite pleased with himself.

"Yeah, yeah," Stiles says, rolling his eyes and bumping his shoulder against Scott's.

"So I'll try to stop being an ass," Scott says determinedly.

"Thanks, dude. You're a prince amongst men," Stiles tells him.

"Although..." Allison starts slowly.

Stiles whips his head around to look at her. "Oh god, now what?"

"Nothing, nothing," she says, holding up her hands. "Except that we wish you would let us help you. More than just staying out of the way."

"Yeah," Scott says, "we should be there for you too. We're your pack. I really don't like not knowing what's up with you."

"I know," Stiles says. "But I promise, at the beginning, it made sense. And the less people running around involved, the better. In this case. I don't want to do it this way always, and I promise, in the future, you will be the first to know if I'm being threatened of being kidnapped by faeries."

"Even before Derek?" Scott asks.

"Yes, unless he happens to be standing right there when that threat goes down. Which, hey, this time he was!"

Scott rolls his eyes. "But then you tell me immediately. _Everything_."

"And me," Allison puts in.

Stiles uses two fingers to make a cross over his heart. "Promise."

"Good," Allison says. "So, anymore pack business?"

Scott shakes his head. "Other than Stiles dating _Derek_ \--"

"And being threatened of kidnapping!"

"-- it's been a pretty quiet year," Scott finishes.

"Thank god," Stiles mumbles. "Seriously, if all I have to deal with is getting a hot boyfriend out of the deal, then fine, but I think we could all use a break."

"Agreed," Scott says. "But, I mean, nothing else is going on."

"Knock on wood," Allison says, and both Scott and she rap on top of Stiles' head while Stiles taps his own forehead.

Allison grins. "Well, if that's all we have to seriously discuss, I think it's time for me to kick your ass," she says smugly. She bounces off the couch to grab the controllers out of the bag.

"Oh like hell you are," Stiles says, sitting up straight and rubbing his hands together. He makes grabby hands and then takes a controller from her.

"I don't know, dude, she's getting pretty good," Scott admits, taking the controller off the table and turning on the tv.

"Ha! She'll never beat me," Stiles says.

"We'll see about that," Allison says, sitting back down beside Stiles.

An hour or so later, Stiles and Allison are pretty much tied, with Scott trailing not too far behind. They're whooping and hollering, trash talking each other, and laughing their asses off. Stiles is just about to win -- _sooooo_ close -- when his dad pops into the living room.

"Hey kids," Stiles' dad says.

Ignoring that they're called _kids_ because Stiles' dad will probably never call them anything else, they all ring out a greeting, though they're still staring at the television. Stiles bites his lower lip in concentration, barely paying attention to his dad.

Until he announces, "I'll see you later."

Stiles immediately puts the game on pause, despite Scott's loud protest. Stiles turns to face his dad. "Where're you going?"

"Just to pick up some groceries. Need anything?"

"I'll come with you," Stiles says, jumping up.

"Stiles, you have friends over. Don't worry about it."

Allison gets to her feet too. "Oh, we were just about to be going anyway," she says.

"We were?" Scott says, and Allison looks at him pointedly. "Oh yeah!" Scott says, getting up too. "We were going to go help my mom with that thing."

"Yeah, that thing," Allison echoes.

"Right, so now I'll come help you with your thing, Dad. Groceries, I mean. You know."

Stiles' dad's gaze goes to each other them. "Well, aren't you a helpful bunch?"

"Yep, we are," Stiles says.

"It's highly suspicious."

"Dad!"

"Fine, fine," his dad says as he watches Scott start putting the controllers in his bag. Allison unplugs the console from the wall, pulling the cords from the television. "I'd appreciate it."

"Cool. Give me a couple minutes, Dad," Stiles says. "Maybe go and make an actual shopping list?"

"Why, so you can cross off everything good?"

"You know I'll just be removing it from the cart anyway. And don't think I won't notice the cookies you hide under the lettuce."

His dad makes grumbling noises, but goes back into the kitchen.

"Thanks, guys. Sorry," Stiles says, helping pack up the console.

"Don't worry about it," Allison says.

"Just let us know if you need anything," Scott adds. "Like, I don't know, us to shadow you or something."

That makes Stiles think of Derek, whom he hasn't heard from all day, but Stiles shakes his head. "It'll be fine. But thanks."

When they go, Allison gives Stiles a hug and Scott fist-bumps him, then they're out the door, leaving Stiles alone to keep an eye on his dad. Stiles goes into the kitchen.

"So," Stiles says, holding out his hand, "let's see this list you have here." His dad sighs but relinquishes it. Stiles eyes it critically. "Oh, yeah, this will not do."

"Glad you chose today to be helpful. No, really, " his dad says dryly. Stiles grins.

\---

Later in the day, when they're back at home and all the groceries are put away, Stiles texts Derek to see what's up. He thinks of maybe inviting him over again, since the night before went pretty well and Stiles doesn't want to leave his dad. He doesn't hear anything back for a while, but they didn't have big plans for the day or anything so he supposes there's nothing wrong with that. Stiles ends up spending his Saturday evening working on homework, and then watching TV with his dad, but he doesn't mind at all. He knows his dad is safe and that's all that matters.

When he's getting ready for bed, he gets a _hey_ quickly followed by a _have a good brunch_ but nothing after that.

Stiles frowns at his phone, but tries not to worry.

\---

Brunch is awkward.

Stiles knows he usually has no problem at all with conversation. Making small talk. Chatting. It's one of the many things he's good at. Take Derek for example; Derek isn't really big on talking, but now Stiles knows how to navigate it enough that he can draw conversation out of Derek. They haven't reached serious levels yet, but when it comes to movies and games and pack business, just hanging out and spending time together, they manage to have full-blown conversations now. It's awesome. 

When faced with the young woman who is casually seeing his father, who is actually embodied by a _faerie_ who wants his father in whatever weird modern day way she's after -- well, it's difficult. Stiles can't bring himself to show much enthusiasm during brunch. He's polite, and he keeps a keen eye on the small talk his father and Ms. Morrell manage to drum up -- apparently having your teenaged son and one of the students at the school you're a councilor at isn't very indicative for conversation either.

It's all just really awkward. 

Stiles knows his father isn't pleased with him, not with the way he looks over at Stiles with pursed lips and tries to include him. When Stiles can't come up with anything to add, his father turns to Ms. Morrell with a fake smile and fills in the blanks. Whether that faerie in there is paying any attention or not, Stiles can't tell, but he knows that Ms. Morrell herself is rather observant. She's got to be, dealing with counselling teenagers who have no interest in talking to an adult about anything serious. She can definitely tell everything isn’t sitting right, though she doesn't say anything about that.

By the time the check comes, Stiles is ready to grab his father by the arm and drag him out of there, to get away from the faerie _and_ what is possibly the most boring and awkward brunch to go down in the history of ever.

"Well, it's been -- thanks for brunch, Dad," Stiles says, clapping his hands together once as they stand outside the restaurant. Turning to Ms. Morrell, he says, "Nice seeing you. Guess I will at school tomorrow, or whatever."

Stiles' dad is grinding his teeth together. "Stiles, I'll meet you at home later. Then we'll talk."

"What? Dad, we came together in the jeep," Stiles says, pointing across and down the road at the parking lot Stiles found a spot in.

"I was going to ask Ms. Morrell if she would like to join me for coffee and then perhaps give me a ride home afterwards."

"What? No, that's doesn't -- no," Stiles says quickly. He is _not_ leaving his dad with her, not for any reason.

"Oh well, I walked here, actually," she says, glancing between the two of them.

"Then I'll call Stiles when I need a ride," his dad says determinedly.

"Dad, I think she's trying to gracefully get out of hanging with you," Stiles says.

Ms. Morrell puts up a hand. "No, no, I'm not saying that, exactly, but perhaps--"

She's cut off when there's a loud exploding sound, and all three of them flinch back. When they look around, there's a plume of smoke hovering over a building that's maybe a couple blocks away.

"What the crap?" Stiles says, mouth wide as he watches the smoke.

"That looks like it could be one of the abandoned warehouses," his dad says while pulling his cell phone out of his pocket and hitting a programmed number.

"Nine-one-one," Stiles says to Ms. Morrell. "He's reporting the incident." After his dad quickly spouts out some information, he clicks closed the call but is already walking away.

"I'm sorry, but I need to go and see about this," he says, bringing the phone up to his face once more.

Stiles adds, "Police station, to get one of his deputies on duty down here pronto."

"Of course, you go," Ms. Morrell calls out.

"Stiles, please give her a ride home," his father says, looking both ways to cross the street but pointing a finger in their direction.

"Sure," Stiles says. "Then I'll swing by and--"

"No," his dad immediately says. "For once, stay away. I'll get a ride home later, once I know everything is okay. I'll probably go down to the station first." There's a break in traffic and he darts across the street. "I mean it, Stiles," he calls over his shoulder, "go home."

"Well," Stiles says as his father disappears down an alley towards the direction of the smoke. "That happens a lot. Just so you know. The whole running into danger thing."

"Must be worrying," she says.

Stiles recognises that voice. That's the I'm-Counselling-You voice. He can deal with that. "It can be. But he's good at his job."

"Yes, he is," she says, and doesn't look offended by his shortness. She gives a small smile. "It's okay, Stiles, I'll just walk home. I'll see you later."

"No, no," he says, sighing. He's not going to be a little shit, disobey his father on this one. "It's no problem, you're not too far from here. I'll give you a ride home."

"If you're sure," she says. She follows him when he nods and starts leading the way to the jeep.

After a moment's contemplation, when they've crossed the street, he sighs and decides to suck it up. "I'm sorry."

"About what?" She sounds surprised.

"This morning. I know I wasn't very..." He shrugs.

"Talkative?" she suggests. "It's all right, Stiles. I know this is an unusual situation--"

He mutters, "You have no idea."

"-- but you have to believe, we're both thinking about you, how it'll affect you."

Stiles snorts. "I appreciate that, but shouldn't you be trying to think of yourself here?"

"You're the most important person to your father. I don't believe anyone would be able to get involved with him without considering that."

Stiles laughs hollowly. It sounds pretty similar to something the faerie told him once, and it's creepy that it's being said now by Ms. Morrell, that they both recognise it to be true. Instead, he says, "I want what's best for my dad."

"No one wants to be lonely."

Stiles almost walks right into a lamppost, he's so startled. He recognises that voice too. It's the unearthly one of the faerie.

He turns to look at Ms. Morrell, and he swears there's a glimmer of wings out behind her, sun reflecting off them for just a second. In a blink, they're gone. "What?" he asks shakily.

Ms. Morrell answers. "I want what's best for him too."

"Do you really?" Stiles can't help but ask.

"Of course."

"Then trust me. It's best that you stay away from him right now."

She frowns. "I don't understand."

"I know you don't," Stiles says, rather sincerely. It's not her fault she's caught up in this; maybe she doesn't really even like his dad that way, and it's just the faerie's influence. That's not cool either. "I swear, it's the best for both of you right now."

Her eyes flash, and they're purple and gold. Behind her frown, he wonders if there's a set of pointy teeth there.

He speaks before the faerie can manifest any more, but he hopes she hears. That she understands. "If he's with someone, I want it to be because he wants it. That they both want. Something that happened naturally. It's what he deserves." He places his hand lightly on her shoulder, notices a couple flecks of glitter on her neck. "It's what you _both_ deserve."

She blinks, and her eyes are normal again. Her smile is small, but there are no pointed teeth there. "All right. I can give you two some space while you work this out."

"Cool. Thanks. Come on," Stiles says, smiling back at her, feeling a little more at ease. "Let's go."

The jeep is in a parking lot that has woods around one side of it, the edge of a small park. When they approached it, they both pause when they hear a noise from the brush.

"What now?" Stiles asks. It seriously has not been a great morning so far.

"Shhh," she says, putting up a hand to shush him, tilting her head so her ear is towards the brush. They hear it again.

"Is that a dog's whine?" Stiles asks, and starts going towards the bushes.

"Stiles, wait," she says, following him. "Do you usually go off into the trees to follow strange noises?"

Stiles snorts softly and doesn't dignify that with a response.

They're in a little further when the whine comes again. "Just over there!" Stiles says, following a beaten path through the trees. He thinks they're almost through to the park.

Suddenly, Ms. Morrell screams, and Stiles spins around in enough time to see a figure with a leather jacket fly by. It's Derek, and he's splashed something green onto Ms. Morrell. She screams again, but when Stiles tries to move toward her, he finds that his feet are cemented into their spot.

The faerie stops screaming, instead snarls in Derek's direction, where he's retreated to the edge of the small clearing they're in. Trees still surround them, and unless someone follows the screams, they're totally alone.

Her wings flutter agitatedly behind her, the shimmer on her skin reflecting the day's light. She snarls again, pointed teeth bared.

"What the hell, Derek?" Stiles exclaims, and he tries to move again.

A chanting starts on the other side of them, and Stiles twists around to see Chris Argent standing there, a book in his hand. When he's close enough, he too pauses in his spot, unable to walk forward. The humans are immobile.

But Derek, the werewolf, is more than capable of getting around. He springs to land between the faerie and Stiles as she starts to move towards him.

"What is this?" she demands, twitching when Argent chants another line.

Argent stops long enough to say, "Born within," and Derek nods.

"Derek," Stiles says, arms windmilling as he tries to move forward but can't.

Derek pays him absolutely no mind as he sprints towards Argent. Stiles makes a shocked protest, but he sees that Argent's hand dips into his left pocket and pulls out a string. Derek grabs it as he darts by, then jumps up to spring his feet off of a tree trunk, landing behind the faerie. He wraps the string around her neck and she gurgles.

"No, don't hurt her!" Stiles says, trying desperately to move. He can't. He watches, eyes wide and not understanding, as Argent starts to chant again and Derek holds an ancient faerie in place with nothing but a small string.

The string glows bright green, shimmering against her skin, and then it completely disappears. At the same time, Stiles falls forward, feet no longer held in place, and Ms. Morrell goes as limp as and slides to the ground. Derek quickly catches her beneath her arms to lower her down.

Stiles crawls over the leaves to end up at her side; she's unconscious and her skin looks chafed and red where the string was; it seems to be fading with each passing second, though. Which is good, because he has no idea how to explain that one.

"We were lucky with where you decided to park," Argent says as he approached. "Last minute change instead of following her home."

"You ... followed us here? Were you -- my dad." Stiles' gaze snaps up to him. "You did that."

"Distracted him," Argent says, nodding. "Had to separate them. Didn't realise you would be joining her, though."

"We bound the faerie back into her," Derek explains.

"What -- is she going to be okay?" He reaches down and lightly presses two fingers against her throat. He's grateful he finds a pulse. The mark of the string is almost completely gone. He wonders if it's magic, or if it's just some sort of supernatural healing the faerie has passed onto Ms. Morrell.

"She'll wake up and be fully herself again. It won't be able to break out, not until death and it finds a new host."

Stiles shudders. That, frankly, is a terrifying thought.

"When did this happen? When did you find out about this? Was it just this morning?" Setting up that explosion would've taken a bit of time, and caution as to not harm anyone. "Why didn't you _tell_ me?"

Derek and Argent exchange a look. "What?" Stiles says flatly. "What aren't you telling me?"

"I asked him not to," Argent says. "I did not want Allison involved."

"You knew," Stiles says accusingly to Derek. "You knew and you didn't tell me?"

"From what I understand, a lot of that went on," Argent says. Derek scowls at him, but Argent pays him no mind. "Derek’s ruse to keep her from snatching you worked, and then Derek did what he had to do to stop the faerie."

It feels like Stiles has been punched in the lungs and he has no air left. Derek's ruse. That's all it's been right from the start. "Right," he says, barely keeping from throwing up. Stiles is an _idiot_ , such an idiot, to think that it was anything more. Derek just kept it up when Stiles was ready to stop because it wasn't real. He let it be real – did what he had to do to stop the faerie.

That's … god, he wants to punch Derek in the face.

"Stiles--" Derek starts, but he's drops it when Ms. Morrell moans.

"She's waking up," Stiles hisses. He waves a hand at them. "Go away."

"Wait—"

" _Go_ ," Stiles stresses, scowling at them both. "I'll deal with this so that no one knows you attacked her."

"We didn't attack her," Argent says, and Stiles pulls a face at him.

"We don't know what she'll remember," Stiles says. Her arms twitches against his again, and her head rolls to the side. He mouths soundlessly at them, " _Go_ ," and refuses to look at either of them again. He hears them retreat into the forest.

A moment later, her eyes flicker open. "Stiles?"

"Hey, Ms. Morrell," Stiles says softly. "How're you feeling?"

She struggles to sit up, but he firmly pushes back on her shoulder. She sighs but lets herself lay back on the ground. "Like I've been hit by a car."

"Well, that didn't happen in the middle of the bush," Stiles says.

"No, but there was somebody—"

"Just a dog," Stiles says. "A dumb, impulsive dog." He hopes Derek hears him. "It scared you, you sort of fell backwards, and maybe fainted?" He reaches into his pocket. "I'm going to call the ambulance right now."

"No, no," she says, reaching out and placing a hand on his to stop him. "Please, that's not necessary."

He frowns. He has no idea what the little ritual spell did to her, what having a faerie in control of her body but is now no longer accessible did to her. "Let me take you to the hospital," he compromises.

"I don't think--"

"I'm taking you to the hospital," he says more firmly. "If my dad finds out I didn't take care of you, especially after acting like such a jackass, holy crap I'm in trouble."

Her lips twitch, though she grimaces as she tries to sit up. "Well, if it's what your dad would want."

"And me," he says, helping her up. They pause a moment to make sure she'll be okay and won’t fall over or anything. He holds out his elbow to her, and she slips her hand in it. He helps her back to the jeep, and ignores the rustling in the bushes behind them.

\---

Stiles shouldn't be surprised when Ms. Morrell reluctantly admits to having dizzy spells lately, and to feeling weird. It's a slight relief, because at least she won't be suspicious of what just went down. As pissed off as he is at them, he doesn't want Argent or Derek in any trouble, not for helping his dad and him. It also makes sense that she's noticed something, had some sort of effect of the faerie coming out to play, and Stiles feels badly that she was on the end of this. He really wishes he could've spoke to her sooner about it.

"Nothing too bad, right?" Stiles says as he turns down the hospital road.

"No. Just ... been feeling a bit off, really. I shouldn't be bothering you with this," she adds quickly. He takes his eyes off the road to glance over and she's shaking her head to herself, as if embarrassed, or questioning showing this kind of weakness to one of her students.

"It's okay, you can tell me. Hey, I just helped you out of the bushes after you fainted," he says light-heartedly. "No secrets there, right?" Looking at her again, he can tell that was maybe not the best thing to remind her of. "Well, whatever it is, make sure you tell the doctor. It could be an explanation of what happened today."

His insides twist. Just another lie he has to tell. He wonders if he'll always be wrapped up in them.

"Thank you," she says, and she doesn't even sound patronising at the fact of some teenager telling her how to behave at the doctor's office. "I'll be sure to do that."

"Yeah well," Stiles says. "I hope you'll be okay." That, at least, is a shred of truth in this whole messed up situation. To avoid awkwardness, he says unnecessarily, "Here we are," as they pull up to the hospital.

He goes inside with her -- insists he will not just _leave_ her, he will give her a ride home. She tolerates him, goes to see the ER nurse's desk, and they're directed to the waiting room. It doesn't look too busy, so hopefully they're not there for hours and hours. Ms. Morrell sits down, leans her head against the wall, and closes her eyes.

Stiles pulls out his phone. There's one message waiting for him from Derek. His finger hovers over opening it, but he frowns and ignores it -- hey, if Derek can spend a day doing it, so can Stiles -- and he opens up Star Wars Angry Birds to pass the time.

A while later, Mrs. McCall comes into the waiting room and calls out Ms. Morrell's name. When she sees Stiles, she tilts her head questioning.

Ms. Morrell smiles. "He's my knight in shining armour."

Stiles blows on his knuckles and rubs them against his shoulder, shining up that non-existent armour just a little more. Mrs. Mccall rolls her eyes and says, "Cute," then leads Ms. Morrell to a room down the corridor, and Stiles doesn't doubt for a second that she's going to be asking what Ms. Morrell meant by that.

Stiles is seriously considering sneaking down the hallway and seeing if he can eavesdrop on that conversation, maybe find out what's been up with Ms. Morrell recently because of course she would tell her healthcare professional, but then he sees none other than Scott walk through the emergency room sliding doors, happy and nonchalant. Relief floods through Stiles.

Scott is up at desk asking if his mom is around when Stiles skids to a flailing stop at his side. "Dude. Dude!"

Scott is super surprised. "What're you doing here, man?" He takes in their surroundings, and Stiles can pinpoint the moment of concern. "Are you okay?"

"Fine, I'm fine ... well, I'm sort of pissed off at the world, but I'm okay. Can I talk to you?" He side-eyes the unit clerk. " _Alone_?"

"Sure," Scott says. To the clerk, he says, "If you see my mom, tell her I'll be right back?"

"And if you see Ms. Morrell, will you tell her _I'll_ be right back?"

The unit clerk arches an eyebrow at them, but nods. Stiles grabs Scott by the arm and drags him outside. They walk a bit to the little area by the hospital that has some flowers and a bench. A nice spot for patients to sit, or relatives and friends to get some air. Thankfully, no one is around right now.

They sit down on the bench. Scott asks, confused, "Why are you here with Ms. Morrell?"

Stiles jumps up off the bench, too anxious to sit still. "Because she is -- _was_ \-- the faerie."

Scott's jaw drops. " _What_?"

"Dude, just -- okay, so here's what happened."

Stiles tells Scott everything. _Everything_ , right down to the last detail. Sure, Scott knows a lot of it, but just the fringes. Stiles can feel the weight lifting off his shoulders as the story comes out; he knows, instinctively, that he should've done that from that start. He won't make that mistake again.

Scott's patient while he listens, knows by now when to just let Stiles vent it all out without interrupting. When Stiles is done pacing and flailing, he flops down on the bench beside Scott again. He finishes with a, "So after she woke up, I brought her here to make sure she was okay. That's the story, dude. The whole story."

Scott is quiet, processing. Stiles gives him his moment to do so. Then Scott says, "So your dad is dating the school councilor? That's weird."

" _That's_ what you have to say?" Stiles asks, astonished.

Scott shrugs. "The rest of it seems oddly ... not surprising."

"Our freaking lives, buddy, our freaking lives," Stiles mutters, shaking his head.

Scott nods seriously. "No kidding."

"But, yes, apparently they are very casually seeing each other. And I haven't really been able to, you know, process that on a normal level. Since she shares her body with a freaking ancient _faerie_ ," Stiles says. "But, I mean, yeah it's a little weird. But I want him to move on. I want him to be happy. And if this is the girl that does it ... then, okay. I'll try to deal with the normal-weirdness factor."

Scott's eyes linger on the emergency room doors. "I hear you."

"But if it was just because of some supernatural matchmaker, then I hope they both move on without too much trouble," Stiles adds. He sighs and scrubs a hand over his head. "That their feelings aren't hurt, or whatever. Because that sucks. That feeling sucks so much."

Scott turns back to Stiles. "I kinda got from the end of your story that you're pissed at Derek."

Stiles chuckles without humour. "Picked up on that, huh?"

"Why? Because he didn't tell you about his and Mr. Argent's plan?"

Stiles nods. "Aren't you pissed about that, too? I mean, they kept it from our pack on purpose. Even me. And I've been involved from the beginning!"

"It might've been Mr. Argent's call," Scott says. "That is so like him."

"Yeah, but --- I mean, they seemed to imply that it was all a front Derek was putting on," Stiles manages to get out, even though the words seem stuck in this throat, burning him. "Derek -- Derek went along with being real boyfriends, making me think we were, to get this whole thing done. And now that it is ..."

Stiles trails off, crosses his arms, and frowns. For once, he doesn't want to say anything else. They sit in silence for a moment before Scott reluctantly speaks.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think you're wrong on this one." Scott puts up his hands defensively when Stiles whips around to glare at him. "I know, I know, it's just -- yeah. Maybe you think you don't think you deserve him or something -- which is _stupid_ , it's the other way around -- but the way he looks at you? Is when he --" Scott gestures to his mouth, unable to say _kisses you_ "-- he's not pretending. He's not _that_ good an actor."

"I don't know, we were both good at fooling everyone from the start," Stiles says.

Scott chuckles, but not meanly. "No you weren't. At least not to the people who actually know both of you. And I'm just saying, I don't think he's pretending anymore. Neither of you are."

Stiles shrugs his shoulder. "We'll see."

"So you're gonna talk to him?" Scott says.

"Eventually," Stiles says. "I need to know what happened, the whole planning of the ritual thing that I wasn't involved with. Even if I'm right -- and I still think I am -- I need to know."

Scott nods. "Closure and shit."

"Ha, yeah, something like that," Stiles says. He stands up off the bench. "Come on, let's go back in. I'm going to wait until Ms. Morrell is ready to go so I can give her a ride home."

"Nice of you," Scott says as they make their way back to the hospital. "Considering she was going to steal you or your father away."

"It wasn't really her. And it's the least I can do after aiding in a supernatural ritual to bind an ancient faerie back into her," Stiles says.

"Wonder what the medical term is for that?" Scott asks.

"Heartburn," Stiles answers, and Scott lightly knocks his shoulder with his own.

\---

When she's finished, Stiles drives Ms. Morrell to her apartment. She doesn't get into any details at all, but seems to be doing all right and is appreciative of his help. When he mentions telling his dad about it, she frowns a little, but nods. He watches as she walks up to her building and gets inside all right, and wonders if maybe the faerie's influence is leaving and she doesn't want anything to do with his dad at all. He doesn't know what to make of that, but hopes it works out the same for both of them.

"What a day," he tells his jeep.

He drives home, trying to pay attention to the road rather than his distracting thoughts. When he pulls up into his drive, he isn't sure if his father's home yet since he didn't drive his own car that day. But there's Derek's Camero taking up Stiles' spot on the drive so Stiles has to park on the street.

Derek is sitting on the front steps of the house, still as a statue, even as Stiles gets out of the jeep and slams the door. Stiles walks up on the front sidewalk, tries to forget how it once looked lined with flowers and glitter, and shoves his hands into his hoodie pockets.

"Hey," he says.

"Hi," Derek replies. "Your dad isn't home."

"Oh, and you didn't break in to lurk while waiting for me? Thanks for that," Stiles says flatly.

Derek frowns. "I haven't done that in a long time."

"Right," Stiles says. "Anyway, here for a reason?"

"You know why."

"Do I?" Stiles prompts. "Maybe you should tell me, huh?"

Derek is still for a moment, hands clasped together on his lap. There isn't any emotion on his face, as guarded and blank as he used to be. When Stiles doesn't go on, refusing to be the one that starts the conversation, that facade cracks in an instant with Derek sighing and running a hand down his face. His hand falls back down to his lap.

"I know what you're thinking," Derek says.

"Yeah, doubt that," Stiles replies shortly.

"I do know," Derek says, nodding. "Even when you're not spewing out words, it's so easy to read you. Like an open book."

"You're not," Stiles says immediately, unable to keep it in. "I mean, I thought I was getting there, but clearly I was wrong. So, so wrong. You're a way better actor than I thought."

"Stiles, I have not been pretending with you," Derek says, straight to the point, reading _exactly_ what Stiles has been thinking and man that is freaking annoying. Derek says, "I mean, not since that day at my house. You know what I mean."

"Oh really?" Stiles says. "You weren't just putting on -- how did Argent put it? Oh yes, a _ruse_ \-- to make sure I didn't cut you out of the faerie plans? Like the way you cut _me_ out?"

"I didn't mean--"

"We were supposed to be in this together," Stiles explodes, hands flinging out of his pockets into the air, flailing them out to the side agitatedly. "You and I, right from the beginning. I kept things from _Scott_ for you! And all this time, what, you were planning the ritual?"

"No," Derek says firmly. "Argent didn't tell me about it until yesterday morning. When you and your pack were hanging out. Argent isn't dumb, he knows you all think of yourself as that--"

"We _are_ ," Stiles stresses irritably.

"I know that, I do, but he has issues with accepting that humans can be in packs. That his _daughter_ can be," Derek says with way more patience than Stiles has right now, and _that_ is freaking annoying too. "He came to me yesterday morning, and told me he knew how to deal with the faerie and he would help, but only if I promised not to include Allison. And that meant also keeping it from you and Scott."

"And you went along with it," Stiles says flatly. "Kept it from me."

"I made a promise that I take very seriously."

"What? Keeping me safe? And happy? Oh, yeah, _good one_ ," Stiles spits back at him. "All sunshine and rainbows over here, yaaaaaaay."

"I kept you safe," Derek says. "And you might be pissed with me--"

" _Might_ be?"

"-- and you probably want nothing to do with me anymore," Derek says, and it actually sounds like that's hard for him to get out, "but I'm not dumb either, Stiles. I know your father is the most important person to you. And keeping _him_ safe will, ultimately, keep you at your happiest."

Stiles doesn't say anything, trying to keep from bursting with anger and lets that sink in, when Derek looks at him intensely, bright eyes staring right into him.

"I will not let you lose any more family. Not if I can stop it."

All the anger deflates out of Stiles in an instant. "Oh, fuck you, snugglebum," Stiles says, sighing. "Had to shoot me right through the heart with that one, didn't you?"

Derek looks minutely more relaxed than he had a moment before. "It's the truth."

"Ugh," Stiles replies, but moves to sit next to Derek on the steps. He keeps his hands in his pockets, watching his toes scuff at the cement. "Do you know why I thought you were still pretending? Why I wasn’t surprised to think you were? I mean that had to hurt you that I thought that, right?" Stiles kinda hates that he has to say that out loud, that he has to ask, but it's been a painful lesson in realising that he's going to have to work harder to coax meaningful conversation out of his possibly-still-boyfriend.

"It did," Derek says quietly. "But ... I get it. I kept plans from you. People dating shouldn't do that."

"Do you know what people dating _should_ do?" Stiles says, looking askance at him. "Actually say they like the other person."

Derek's surprised, which is kind of a nice look for him. "You really think I don't?"

"I'm reconsidering that stance," Stiles says.

"I thought ... well, I thought I've been clear about that," Derek says.

Stiles nods. "I know. You're a man of action. But I'm a man of words. We're going to have to mesh that a bit to make sure everyone is on the same page."

"I can work on that," Derek says. "Just a warning though, not my strong point."

"Don't I know it," Stiles says, not unkindly. "But I'll try harder to remember that whenever you piss me off with _not_ talking, just don't be surprised if I _do_ get pissed off when it happens."

"Fine," Derek says. "We're on the same page with that."

"Yeah," Stiles says. He takes his hands out of his pockets, folds them in front of him, and uses his elbow to bump Derek's. "Also? We have to set some ground rules or this isn't going to work."

Derek casts a suspicious glance. "Ground rules?"

"You can't keep things from me, not like you did yesterday," Stiles says. "Even if I do know now how to pick up on when you are."

"Oh yeah?" Derek asks, eyebrows raised. "How's that?"

"You avoid texting or talking to or seeing me," Stiles says, grinning. "Afraid of me figuring something out, were you?"

"You're better at reading me than you think," Derek says.

"Hm, we'll see about that," Stiles says, though is ridiculously pleased Derek seems to think so. Maybe Stiles _is_ on the right track. "But do we have a deal?"

Derek nods. "Yes, but that goes both ways. Do not keep anything like that from me. I don't care if you think you can handle it yourself, or you think it'll cause problems between the packs, I need to know. I'll do the same."

"Even if your alpha instincts are telling you to deal with it yourself, because you think you have to be the hero who keeps me safe?" Stiles asks. "Like, oh I don't know, yesterday and today for example?"

Derek gives him a flat look for pointing it out, but eventually nods. "Even then."

"Okay, deal," Stiles says. "Next point, somewhat related: I will not be keeping things from my pack anymore. I mean, normal relationshipy things, that's fine. Scott doesn't want to know anyway. I mean the serious my life could be in danger things. Like who ancient faeries are, the crazy ones that want to steal me or my dad away. Or even nice ones--"

"There are no nice ones."

"-- well, in case there are. Scott and Allison, no matter what her father thinks, get to know any supernatural business I'm involved with. Neither of you get to make that decision for any of us. And what with that whole dating an alpha werewolf thing, you _know_ this is going to come up with some point."

Derek sighs. "I know. I don't like it, but I know."

"You might not like it, but it's a truth we should deal with up front. I can take care of myself, my pack can take care of me, but I know you can too. Hell, dude, feel free to use your awesome muscles and werewolf powers to help me if I'm in harm's way, just let me and my pack know you're doing it."

"Why? So Scott can fight against my plans the entire time?"

"Scott and you are both going to have to man up and learn how to deal with each other," Stiles tells him. "I'll be there to mediate during those Code Red we're-fighting-supernatural-beings times, but on a normal day? Bicker amongst yourselves."

"Fun," Derek mutters sarcastically.

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Whatever, I think you guys _like_ pushing each other, but I've already said the same thing to Scott, and he agrees. So if you're the hold out here, guess who's being the asshole?"

"Imagine that," Derek says dryly, and Stiles laughs. It makes Derek soften around the features, and he even quirks up one side of his mouth in a half-grin. "Okay. I agree with that, too. Both points. Anything else?"

Stiles thinks for a moment, and then shakes his head. "No. Can you think of anything?"

"Not right now," Derek says, "but we should leave it open to negotiation. We'll have to deal with stuff as it comes up."

"Very true," Stiles says, "but we have to _talk_ about it when it does."

"I know, I know," Derek says, putting up his hands defensively. When he drops them, he reaches out with one and takes Stiles' in it. Stiles twines their fingers together and rests their hands on his knee.

"So we're still actual-boyfriends?" Stiles asks.

"Still boyfriends."

"Can we celebrate with boyfriend sex?"

"When you're eighteen," Derek answers immediately.

Stiles lets out a put-upon sigh but grins. "Boyfriend kissing?"

"Yes," Derek says, and leans in. "Absolutely."

Stiles makes a happy noise at the back of his throat when Derek kisses him. He opens up for it, wanting it deeper, more. Derek's tongue slides wet and warm into his mouth, claiming. Stiles sucks gently, and then greedily, and moans in protest when Derek pulls away.

Derek cups Stiles' chin and looks very intently into his eyes. "Stiles," he says seriously, "I like you more than I like rare steak."

Stiles pulls his head away as he throws it back in loud, surprised laughter. When he looks back, Derek has a big, smug grin gracing his stupidly perfect face.

Stiles rolls his eyes. "You have such a way with words," he says, sounding more affectionate than he meant to.

"I'm trying," Derek says with a shrug, and Stiles can't help but lean in to kiss him again.

 

** EPILOGUE **

 

Stiles has the opportunity to sleep in on his birthday -- it is a Saturday, which works amazingly for having a party, and that’s exactly what will be happening later that night -- but he’s up almost as early as he would be if he had to go to school that day.

He can’t help it. It’s pretty exciting.

He lies in bed looking up at the ceiling and hums a jaunty little tune in his head. He doesn’t sing the words out loud, in case his father decides to pick that moment to walk by his room, overhear it, and awkwardly lecture Stiles on being safe.

 _Happy Legality day to meeeee_ , he sings in his own mind. _Happy Legality day to meeeee_.

It is going to be a freaking fantastic day, Stiles just _knows_ it.

He reaches over to his nightstand to get his phone, a couple messages from his friends already waiting for him. He scrolls through, smiling at the thought there are people who aren’t Scott or his dad that care that it’s his birthday. There is, however, one very specific person that is missing from the list.

That’s okay. Maybe it's Derek that's sleeping in.

Stiles decides to just bypass that, in case Derek thought for some reason that texting him might wake him up and that all birthday dudes deserve to sleep in. There’s nothing wrong with that misplaced thoughtfulness, so Stiles shoots him a text, a simple _Hey._

Right away, Derek responds. _Good morning._

Stiles waits. And waits. And waits for approximately five whole minutes before texting back _Don’t be a jackass._

Derek knows what today is, and should be properly acknowledging it.

Stiles can picture Derek lying in his new bed at the completed Hale house, where he’s decided to spend his weekends, though he does stay with Isaac during the week. Stiles likes this plan, it’s an excellent plan for the couple of couples that are largely comprised of supernatural hearing, save for himself. The space is very good for all of them.

Still, right now, Stiles bets that Derek is lying there in his quiet house with a smug grin on his face and laughing it up at thinking about _Stiles_ and his squirming while waiting for the appropriate response.

Stiles has a feeling that is exactly it when he gets back a, _What are you talking about?_ and determines his boyfriend is electronically the least stealthy and least funny person there is.

 _Fine_ , Stiles types, _see if I COME over to see you. No real reason to, right?_

Within a second there’s a, _Happy 18th, Stiles_.

_That’s what I thought. See you in a while._

Stiles grins to himself and hops out of the bed, heading to the shower. He takes very good care to clean thoroughly, in case a certain werewolf boyfriend he knows wants to put his hands and tongue and lips any and everywhere he damn well pleases. Which would be more than fine with Stiles.

And when he’s done thinking about that, he washes himself thoroughly again. Sometimes thinking can get a bit messy.

All ready for the day, backpack packed with some overnight stuff, Stiles follows the smell of bacon and takes the stairs two at a time, drops the bag by the front door, and slides into the kitchen. His father is there, a hearty breakfast feast on the go.

“No complaining about bacon,” his dad says. “It’s your birthday and it's tradition.”

“No better way of celebrating the rite of passage into manhood than eating crispy bacon,” Stiles says solemnly, and snatches a piece off the plate, narrowly missing the spatula that whaps his way.

“You can wait five minutes.”

“Ugh,” Stiles says. “Today has been a day of waiting. Being eighteen better hurry up.”

His dad looks at him, looks at the clock, and then shakes his head, going back to the bacon. Stiles pops some bread into the toaster.

“Happy birthday, by the way,” his dad says, scooping up the last couple pieces of bacon onto some paper towel and blotting the grease away. “How does it feel?”

“Great,” Stiles says, grinning. “I can vote for you to keep your job, as should be my sonly duty.”

“It’s been a long time coming.”

“Yeah it has,” Stiles says. “You better not freak out when I don’t come home tonight, or my vote is totally going to the other guy.”

His father pauses his motion to take plates out of the cupboard. “That’s right. You’re having a party at the Hale house.”

“A gathering,” Stiles corrects. “Of my closest friends, because Derek is pretty much a hermit who will tolerate only them in his brand new house.”

“And how much underage drinking is going to be going on?”

“None,” Stiles says truthfully. “Like, seventy-five percent of my friends don’t drink anyway.” That might not be entirely reassuring for a father, but it's the truth. Except that there’s no need to tell his dad it’s because those seventy-five percent of his friends are supernatural creatures who don’t get affected by it whatsoever, and that the other twenty-five percent -- Lydia, Allison, and Danny -- and he have already decided to get their drunk on at a party Lydia is planning next weekend anyway. Tonight is going to be a nice, alcohol free evening that werewolves, kanimas _and_ humans can enjoy with no one making a fool of themselves. Hopefully.

His dad cringes at that statement anyway. “I’m not even going to ask about the others, then.”

Stiles shrugs. “We’re all going to be on the same page, promise. No drinking. No getting Derek accused of or arrested for providing minors with alcohol and absolutely _no_ breaking any of his new lamps. He really doesn’t like that, especially when, for example, it happens by complete and total accident while flinging a Wii controller in unbound joy after finally kicking his ass at tennis.”

His dad snorts. “They have wrist straps for that.”

“Oh, I know. I _know_. I’ve heard all about it, _believe me_.”

His dad laughs, and hands two plates to Stiles to take to the table, and follows close behind with the bacon and eggs and toast. They’ve just started eating when his dad says, “No drinking still doesn’t explain why not to freak out when you don’t return home tonight.”

Stiles spits out the scrambled eggs he’s eating, and his father rolls his eyes when Stiles points to the ground and says, “I’ll clean that.”

Then, despite the way his cheeks have become heated and are undoubtedly bright red, he looks at his father evenly. “Because,” he says, “I am going to crash at my boyfriend’s house tonight.”

His dad stares at him, not even blinking.

“Oh come on, Dad,” Stiles says, throwing a hand up into the air. “I’m eighteen and we’ve been really good and I haven’t spent a night away from home once in weeks--“

“Yes you did.”

Stiles points a finger at his dad. “I was at Scott’s and Mrs. McCall called to confirm, don’t even front.”

“Fine, fine,” his dad says, holding up his hands defensively. “You’re eighteen now, and even if you’re living under my roof--”

“Dad!”

“This happens on the weekends only,” his dad says. “Nothing that will affect your school work or your chances at college.”

“Fair,” Stiles says.

“Good,” his dad replies. He reaches over and picks up something off the chair next to him that Stiles hadn’t previously seen. He holds it out to Stiles and says, “Happy Birthday, this is for you and Derek to use.”

It's a gift wrapped in ridiculous birthday Pokémon wrapping, like when Stiles was a kid, and he has no idea where his father would've still got wrapping like that. It probably _is_ left from when Stiles was a kid. Except there's something completely off by it, because the box is small, and square, and shaped exactly like a condom box.

Stiles would know. He's looked at condom boxes a lot in the past couple years.

And even purchased some recently. Just in case.

However, getting a gift like that, right now, from --

"Dad!" Stiles exclaims, embarrassed, and doesn't take the present. He doesn't want it at all. Not like this.

"What?" his dad asks innocently, puts the box down on the tabletop, and pushes it over to Stiles. "I think you'll both enjoy it."

"Oh my god, this is, I can't believe you'd do this."

"Did you go snooping around in my room already? It's not Christmas, and you're not five. Or eleven. Or fourteen."

"Or seventeen," Stiles says, and reluctantly picks up the box. He slides his thumb under some tape, and then thinks _to hell with it_ and rips it open.

It's ... a completely plain, simple cardboard brown box. 

"Oh my god," Stiles says when he looks at his dad and sees he is barely containing a grin, like he enjoyed seeing Stiles squirm like that. "Dad! You ... is this a gag gift?"

"Poor choice of words, kid."

" _Dad_!" Stiles scolds, and then rips open the box and digs through the tissue paper, pulling out a gift card to the vegetarian restaurant his father is now extremely fond of. "You have got to be kidding me."

"But the look on your face," his dad says, laughing. "Worth it."

"No, no it really wasn't," Stiles says, but laughs too.

In a flash, his dad's smile is gone and he's gone Serious Dad again, pointing a finger at Stiles. "You better be safe."

Stiles rolls his eyes and shoves some toast into his mouth. "You can stop now, Dad."

His dad grins, but in a way where he's still half-serious, but they go on with their breakfast without any other major embarrassing comments.

Stiles helps clean up, but is anxious to leave and sort of tries to sneak away when his dad isn't looking. His dad probably realises something is up, because Stiles didn't even ask about any other gifts, but stops him in time to give a couple more. Stiles happily opens them, because okay presents _are_ awesome, and is pleased that it's nothing that makes him want to be swallowed up into a hole in the ground, but instead gets a new hoodie and a new playstation game.

"Thanks, Dad, they're cool," he says, slipping off his older, grey hoodie, and puts on the new blue one with purple stripes across it. "Just what I needed, hoodie number twenty-eight." He grins. "It's great."

"Yeah, right," his dad says, shaking his head. "I knew you'd like it, though."

"Love it," he says. "Look, if you don't mind--"

His dad holds out an envelope. "This is from me and your mom."

Stiles goes completely still, heart skipping a beat, and then slowly reaches out for it. "What do you mean?"

"Something we started to put together when you were really young, contributed to it when we could. We always meant to give it to you when you turned eighteen."

Stiles opens the envelope and pulls out some papers, and at the top of one is a financial report for, like, thousands of dollars.

"That's for college," his dad explains when Stiles looks up at him in astonishment. "I know that big brain of yours will probably get scholarships and all that, but I'm sure you'll find that useful in helping you out."

"Well _yeah_ ," Stiles says, looking down at the papers again. "This is ... Dad, _thank you_."

"We used to joke that if you turned out to be a dumbass who didn't go to college we would by a retirement boathouse with it," his dad says with a wistful smile, clearly thinking back on a conversation he once had. Eyes focusing on Stiles again, he gives a more encouraging one. "She would've be so proud to give that to you today."

" _Dad_ ," Stiles says, unable to say anything else without maybe tearing up at the thought of his mom. Instead, he pulls his dad into a hug, and whispers, "Thanks."

His dad pats him on the back, pulls away, and gives him a proud smile. "Happy Birthday. Now, I know you don't want to spend it with your old dad--"

"My amazing, fantastic, awesome dad? Who I will vote for one day, especially now that I _can_."

"Go, get," his dad says, pushing lightly on his shoulder. "Go see your friends."

"Sir, yes, sir," Stiles says, gives a playful salute, and makes for the front door.

"Home tomorrow afternoon! I'm taking you out for dinner."

"Okay!" Stiles calls out as he opens the door.

"And bring Derek!"

"Okay! Later!" Stiles says, bolting out the door and slamming it behind him, but smiling wide because, seriously, he has the best dad.

He's just about to jump into the jeep when he sees Ms. Morrell walking up the sidewalk towards their house. "Hey," Stiles says with a wave.

"Hi, Stiles," she says as she comes up to the drive. "Happy Birthday."

"Dad told you, huh?" he says, grinning. "Thanks."

Stiles isn't completely sure what's going on between the two of them anymore. He does know that there hasn't been a single sighting of purple and gold glitter or sparkles or flowers or faeries since the day of the ritual. Stiles hasn't felt weird, Derek hasn't felt weird, and his dad hasn't been acting weird. If the faerie really is still inside Ms. Morrell, she has no influence on the outside world. Stiles hopes she's resting peacefully, rather than being trapped.

His dad told him a couple weeks before that Ms. Morrell and he thought they would put things on hold, but still be friends. Stiles can't help but wonder if that's because they don't really like each other that way, or if they realised that something was off before so they're backing off. Maybe they'll be into each other again, start over, but maybe they won't. Stiles just wants his dad to be happy and move on, but because that's how he actually feels, not because someone -- or something -- influenced him to.

Whatever is going on between his dad and Ms. Morrell, they're on good enough terms that he's asked her to help him with some fundraising thing the department wants to do. Hey, she helpfully assisted one Stiliniski, and she seems happy to help the other. Nothing wrong with having allies.

"This is for you," she says, dragging Stiles from his thoughts. She holds out a neatly wrapped present, thankfully of a larger rectangular shape.

"You didn't have to do this," he says, taking it as she insistently holds it out to him.

"It's nothing, really," she says. "Well, it is, but it's second hand. It's been mine for a long time, I always found it interesting, but lately ... well, I have a feeling you would like it."

"Well how can I say no to that sell?" he says as he unwraps it. It's a leather bound book with deep etching on the cover.

"It's about myths," she says, "specifically nymphs and sprites and faeries."

He very nearly drops the damn book.

She says, "Your father says you like this kind of thing."

"W- _What_?" he asks, stuttering.

"Myths? Folklore and such," she says. "He's mentioned that you always have those kind of books sitting around your room, print outs and things. Do you plan on studying it in college?"

"Uh," he says, running his hands over the etched words in the cover. He can't read them. "Sciences, actually."

"Oh, I see," she says. "Well, folklore is so interesting. It's amazing how those myths developed in societies, and how they got passed down through the generations. If you really do like it, you might be able to find a couple of elective courses."

She's smiling at him, open and genuine, not at all suspicious or creepy and there are no wings or pointed teeth. Somehow, he's not surprised that she has an interest in this. It's probably some deep, weird subconscious thing, but nothing appears wrong, not any more.

He smiles at her, just as sincere. "Thank you," he says. "I think I'll look into that." He gestures with the book in his hand. "And I really appreciate this. It could actually come in use some day. For, uh, reading or maybe a class or whatever."

She lightly pats his arm. "You're so very welcome." She points up to your house. "Your father's home?"

He nods. "Yep, he's here."

"Great," she says, pointing to the satchel that's hooked over her shoulder. There aren't any flowers on it anymore. "I had some information to drop off for him." 

"Hey, Ms. Morrell?" he calls out after she started to walk away, and she turns to look back at him. "You're okay, right? You know, after that day?"

She smiles widely. "I feel great, much better than I had been for quite a while."

"Good," he says, nodding. "That's ... good. I'm glad to hear."

She gives him a happy nod, and then goes up to the house. His dad answers before she's barely knocked once.

After she's gone into the house, he looks at the book again. He flips some pages, dragging his thumb over some of the gold leafed edges.

The book opens to the middle, and two pressed flowers fall out, fluttering to the ground. One is yellow, and one is purple. The petals shine like glitter in the sun.

He stares at them for a moment, and then picks them up. They're velvety soft. He thinks for a second of crushing them, making them into dust and throwing it out onto the wind.

After a moment, he puts them back into the book and carefully closes it. He gets into the jeep and puts it on the seat next to him, then drives to Derek's, feeling peaceful the entire way.

\---

"Hello?" Stiles calls out as he opens the door to the Hale house. He knows Derek's there, his car is out front, and Derek's sure to have heard the jeep approaching.

"I'm in here!" Derek yells back.

Stiles drops his overnight bag to the floor near the bottom of the stairs and heads to the back of the house. He finds Derek in the kitchen, hands in the sink, and is apparently doing dishes.

Stiles walks up behind him, kisses between his shoulder blades, though sadly Derek is fully clothed and not doing chores while naked. Damn. "Don't you have a brand new dishwasher?"

"Stupid thing started leaking last night," Derek says grumpily. "I'm calling the repair guys on Monday."

"Okay," Stiles says. He wraps his arms around Derek's waist, mouthing at the back of his neck. "So we'll have a bunch of dishes to do by hand in the morning. I could think of worse things."

"In the morning, huh?" Derek says, too nonchalant. "Staying the night?"

Stiles pinches Derek's ass, because it is totally within his legal and boyfriend rights to do so now.

Derek huffs a laugh and uses his ass to push Stiles away from him, and okay then, Stiles can totally live with that pushing up against his crotch. But then Derek squirms away somehow, hands still in the sink.

"Stiles, I really need to finish up here," he says. "There are people coming over later."

"You have got to be kidding me," Stiles says, dropping his hands from Derek's waist and putting them on his own hips. Derek looks too serious when he glances over his shoulder. Stiles gives him wide eyes. "Do you know what today is?"

"Saturday," Derek answers.

"You're still a jackass," Stiles says, sighing, and jumps up to sit on the counter near the sink. At least Derek leans over to give him a quick peck, but then next Stiles knows, Derek's back to standing up straight and is being all domestic and shit.

"You're seriously just going to leave me hanging here?" Stiles says from his perch on the counter, holding his arms out in a _come on, man_ gesture. "On my birthday? Really?"

"My hands are wet," Derek says, his hands still in the sink of soapy water.

"I hear that's good for friction," Stiles say. "No, strike that. I _know_ that's good for friction."

Derek rolls his eyes and swipes the dishcloth over a plate. Again. For, like, the twentieth time, Stiles swears. The jerk is doing this on purpose.

"And I held off this morning waiting for this!"

Derek snorts. "No you didn't."

"Okay, no I didn't," Stiles says, because he totally jerked off thinking of Derek _finally_ touching his dick, and now Derek _isn't_ touching his dick. "But, really, I mean. Come on, it's my birthday."

"All day," Derek says. "We have time all day."

"No we don't," Stiles says. "You're being a busy cleaning bee because we _are_ having our friends over tonight, and I know Scott is not going to tolerate us going at it with them here, even if it is my birthday. Have I mentioned yet it's my birthday?"

"Once or twice."

"Well. It is. And I'm eighteen. Eighteen! You've made me wait _forever_ \--"

"Three weeks."

"-- and ever and ever. Let's get on with the sexy times!"

Derek places the plate on the drying rack, and picks up a handful of cutlery from the bottom of the sink, very methodically shining each one to a perfect silver. They're brand new, it's not like they need to be polished off. But Stiles _does_ , badly, and preferably by his boyfriend. Then again, that's not the only way.

"Fine," Stiles says. He wiggles his butt on the counter a little, making a show of getting more comfortable, and leans his head back against the cabinet. "I'll just do it myself. You're in the room. It counts."

Derek goes incredibly still, and looks askance at Stiles. Stiles grins at him, and very blatantly and obviously palms his dicks through his jeans. Derek's gaze drops down to where Stiles is kneading the heel of his hand.

"I bet I could get myself off and be ready to go again before you're done your damn dishes," Stiles says. He thumbs open the button of his jeans and pushes down the zipper. His boxer briefs are dark green and getting tighter over the growing bulge. Stiles keeps his hand on top of them still, palm moving down and fingers curling around the bottom of his sack.

Stiles can feel his face heating up faster than it usually does. Because this is new; of course he's touched himself before, but not like this, not in front of someone else. Especially not Derek, who has been very diligent in keeping things above the waist, even if they have had some pretty intense make-out sessions that required breaks before either of them shot a load. It was both ridiculously tortuous and incredibly awesome. But now Derek's given up all pretense of doing dishes, hands still hanging into the water as he avidly watches Stiles start to rub himself off.

Derek unconsciously licks his lips, and Stiles make a noise at the back of his throat. Derek's eyes snap up to Stiles' face, eyes lingering on his mouth as Stiles bites his bottom lip when he rubs harder.

"Derek," Stiles says, a little breathless.

Derek nods firmly, as if that's the final thing he needed to get a fucking move on already. He flicks his wet, soapy hands into the sink, and then picks up the towel. He dries off his hands, still being careful and slow as he openly watches Stiles' crotch, but then flings the towel clear across the room and steps between Stiles' legs.

"Hi," Stiles says brightly.

"Hi," Derek replies. His hands settle on Stiles' hips, still not touching him the way Stiles actually wants, but it's a start. Stiles is about to make a complaint when Derek leans forward and captures his mouth in a hot, searing kiss. Stiles moans into it, hand stilling while he focuses on Derek's mouth, his wet tongue, his talented lips.

When they pull apart, Derek leans his forehead against Stiles and looks down between their bodies. "Still want to watch you," he says, voice low. "Really touch yourself."

Stiles groans because that's hot and there's no way he can say no to that. He tilts his head just enough so he can spit into his hand, and then dives back down immediately, slipping into his briefs. He groans in relief when there's finally a hand on him, skin against skin, even if it is his own.

He takes hold of his hardening cock and strokes it for real, pulling firm and up. The cockhead sticks out the top of waistband, and Derek makes a choked noise that makes Stiles' insides twist up.

"Please," Stiles says, bordering on a whimper, for crying out loud. Oh yeah, that's fucking sexy. His other hand comes up so that his fingertips press against Derek's skull, his hair too short to grab onto. "Come on, touch me, Derek."

Derek doesn't seem to be in a teasing mood anymore. His hand slides down over Stiles' thigh but then back up inside, cupping Stiles' balls through his briefs. Stiles groans and arches his back, squeezes his cock harder, and holy shit someone else is touching his junk. That fucking rocks.

"Keep going," Derek says, kissing Stiles' cheek, his mouth, and then leans his forehead against Stiles' again. He fondles Stiles' balls while Stiles strokes himself, trying to keep a slow, even pace and not get too worked up over it.

"I want -- please, I want you--" Stiles groans again when Derek gently squeezes his sack, but then promptly lets go. And steps away from Stiles completely.

Stiles pushes himself off the cupboard and sits up straight, staring at Derek's backside as he walks away. "Come _on_ , seriously? You're going to leave me like this? Blue Balls is not the theme colour for my birthday!"

Derek grabs a chair from the little breakfast table on the other side of the kitchen, rolling his eyes as he turns back to Stiles, dragging the chair behind him. There is an obvious bulge at the front of his black jeans and that, at least, is an indication that he doesn't plan on leaving it at that.

"If you would hold on for ten more seconds--"

"What the hell is so important that you stopped touching my dick?" Stiles asks, using his free hand to gesture down at the other one that is still down his pants, stretching the material out, and his dick half showing as it rests against his flat stomach. "Not that you really have yet, I've been doing it, so what the hell?"

"I'm getting ready for this," Derek says. He swings the chair around so that the back of it is up against the lower cabinets. Derek moves swiftly, swinging a leg over it so that he's straddling the chair backwards, but facing Stiles and ... and now his face is right at the level of Stiles' crotch.

"Oh," Stiles says faintly, looking down at Derek where he is in prime position for some cock sucking. "Oh, okay then."

"Okay then," Derek says, and slips his hands under Stiles' thighs, tugging him forward so that his ass is right at the edge of the counter. Derek's hands smooth over Stiles' legs, and his fingers deftly slip into the band of Stiles' boxers, trying to tug both them and his jeans down past his hips.

Stiles is right on board with that. He lets go of his cock but wiggles his hips side to side and pushes his jeans and briefs down over his ass. Derek makes an approving noise as Stiles' cock is exposed, bare to the air and any mouths that happen to want to make its acquaintance.

Derek doesn't bother pulling Stiles' jeans all the way down, just half way down his thighs. He kisses the bare skin at the top inside of one leg -- so close, god so close -- while blindly trying to push Stiles' hoodie and shirt up off his stomach.

Stiles has no problem with that, and hastily tugs them, throwing them the way of the towel. Derek's eyes graze over Stiles' pale skin, his hand meandering a path over his stomach and up over his pecs. Stiles' heart is pounding, and suddenly it's almost hard to meet Derek's eyes, feeling the heaviness of scrutiny that probably doesn't even exist. Derek lifts his ass off the chair and tilts his head up, and Stiles leans over enough to kiss him, getting lost in it after feeling oddly exposed, despite wanting this so badly. It's like Derek knows, and by the time he breaks away and sits back down and nuzzles at Stiles' leg again, Stiles is calmer, ready for this.

"I've thought about this. You. A lot," Derek says, his voice quiet but husky against Stiles' leg when his hand cups Stiles' balls again, this time skin against skin. Stiles takes in a deep breath and nods; he knows that even though Derek was the one putting stops on things, it wasn't that he didn't _want_ Stiles. He was just being stupidly honourable about it all.

That appears to all have gone out the window with that predatory look in his eye, and his hand moving to base of Stiles' cock. Stiles doesn't even try to keep back the gasp this time; there it is, there it finally is, someone else touching his cock. Derek, his _boyfriend_ , finally touching his cock.

Derek gives very little warning before giving one firm stroke, angling Stiles' erection towards him, and then actually slipping the head of it into his mouth. He sucks on it, tongue moving around the crown, and it's like he means to drag that wrecked noise right from Stiles. Stiles' hands grip around the edge of the counter, fingernails digging into the wood underneath, and tries with all his might not to be an asshole who bucks up and chokes Derek.

Derek's got a handle on this, and it's clear that he's experienced. He bobs up and down, tongue moving along the vein underneath. He pays special attention at massaging right under the cockhead with the tip of his tongue, sending heat shivers through Stiles' entire body, beads of sweat breaking out along his forehead. Derek takes him in pretty deep a couple of times, and Stiles can only tilt his head back against the cupboard to keep from falling right over, his mouth open in a soundless cry as he stares up at the ceiling.

"Oh god," Stiles says when Derek goes back to sucking on the cockhead. Stiles glances back down, and sees Derek's cheeks are hollow from perfect suction, and Stiles has to scrunch his eyes shut because it's so hot he's ready to come right now. "I can't -- won't hold on much longer."

There's an obscene pop when Derek backs off his dick, though his hand still strokes it, thumb swiping over the slit. Stiles twitches from it, muscles tense, like a coiled spring ready to let go.

"It's okay," Derek says, "do it. I want you too." He takes one of Stiles' wrists, coaxing him to let go of the counter, but puts Stiles' hand onto his shoulder. Derek's strong muscles move under his shirt and Stiles' fingertips. He repeats, "It's okay."

That's about all it takes. A couple more strong sucks and pumps, and Stiles is curled over, both hands digging into Derek's shoulders now as he comes hard, harder than he ever has on his own. Derek keeps Stiles in his mouth, swallowing around his cock, licking and tasting even as Stiles goes soft. Stiles makes a noise when it becomes too much, too sensitive, and Derek immediately backs off.

"Oh my god," Stiles says, slumping back against the cupboard doors again. His eyes are closed, and he focuses on taking deep inhales, trying to catch his breath. Holy crap, he just had his first blowjob. He says, still breathless, "That was fucking awesome." He reaches out blindly and tries to find some part of Derek to touch, to ground him.

He feels it on the air when Derek stands up, hears the scrap on the floor as the chair is pushed away. Derek crowds in around Stiles, hands moving over bare skin, nose nuzzling at his jaw line.

"Good?" Derek murmurs against Stiles' cheek, sounding entirely too smug. Well, he deserves it, that's for sure.

"There are no words," Stiles says, “not right now. Later? Hell yeah. All the words. You will hear just _how_ good. Just let me enjoy the glow for a second, yeah?"

Derek chuckles, low and full, and it's a sound that Stiles suddenly needs to be closer to. He needs to be closer to all of Derek. He pushes himself up again, right into Derek's body. He wraps his arms around Derek's shoulders, pulling them even closer together. It's a little weird -- Stiles is more than half naked, his jeans caught around his knees, while Derek's still dressed, the soft material of his shirt rubbing against Stiles' bare chest.

Derek rolls his hips to get closer, and Stiles feels the bump of his trapped erection against his stomach.

"Oh," Stiles breaths, eyes flying open. He pushes at Derek, trying to get him to back away enough so Stiles can slide down off the counter. He feels weak in the knees and a little wobbly after coming as hard as he did, but that's okay. He can deal, oh yes he can. "We are so not done here."

Stiles stops long enough to pull his briefs and jeans up over his ass, and he's just about to tuck himself back in when Derek's hand shoots out, gently grabbing Stiles' elbow to stop him. "Don't," Derek says. "Not yet. Just ... leave it."

Stiles' soft, limp dick hangs free and the elastic band on his briefs are snug up under his balls, and his weirdo boyfriend apparently thinks that's hot. "Oh my god," Stiles says, grabbing Derek by the back of the neck and pulling him in for a bruising kiss. He pushes his tongue forward, and Derek opens up for him. There's a tangy flavour now, and Stiles groans when he remembers he's tasting his own spunk. He says against Derek's mouth, "We are going to do so many nasty things, oh my god," and pushes on Derek's chest to get him to move back.

Stiles grabs the chair as they walk by, and he pushes it up against the wall. "But we'll start simple," Stiles says, and points to the chair. "Sit. Jeans open and pushed down, like me."

Derek wordlessly goes -- it's clear where this is going, why would he protest? -- and palms his own dick when he sees Stiles eying it up interestedly. He undoes his fly and smirks when Stiles' notices he's gone commando.

"Fuck," Stiles says, looking at the dark hair from the navel down, nestling around Derek's cock. "That ... was a great idea." Stiles shakes his head to snap out of it, because he's got a plan here. He picks up his shirt and hoodie, folds them haphazardly, and drops them at Derek's feet.

"Here," Derek says, pulling his own shirt off and adding it to the pile.

"Um, yes, always with that," Stiles says. He reaches out and runs his hands down Derek's shoulders, past his collarbones, and over those perfectly, perfectly defined pecs. He's already spent a lot of time on those, just the other day, including kissing and sucking on Derek's abs for so long that Derek was trembling and had to push Stiles away, asking him to stop to regain some composure.

Stiles is so going to do that again some time, and he's not going to have to stop. But he's got other ideas today, ones that bypass the lip worship of Derek's pecs and abs. Straight to the point.

Stiles drops down to his knees on the pile of shirts, inches closer between Derek's legs. Derek slumps down more in the chair, spreads his legs wider, and oh god the man is trying to kill Stiles.

Stiles puts his hands on Derek's thighs, the thick dark hair there tickling his palms as he absently rubs them up and down as he stares at Derek's cock. Derek's got a loose hold on it, pumping almost lazily if it weren't for the way he squeezes at it too. It's a thick and gorgeous cock, flushed red and hard already, pre-come leaking out the end.

"Stiles," Derek says, husky voice, and Stiles looks up at his face. He's starting to look unravelled around the edges, not as controlled as usual when they're getting even a little bit physical. His neck is splotched red, and it's gone down to his shoulders and chest too, flushed with arousal or maybe anticipation. It looks like it takes a lot for him to say, "You don't have to, if you're not ready--"

"Shut up," Stiles says immediately. He determinedly leans down and kisses the inside of Derek's thigh, just like Derek had done to him. He noses around, little licks and kisses as he works his way up. "It's my birthday and I'll suck cock if I want to."

Derek huffs a strained laugh, but let's go of himself, leaving room for Stiles to do whatever he wants. "If you insist."

"Of course I insist, you have no idea how much I insist," Stiles says.

"You have been for weeks," Derek says. "I get it. It's just, you know--"

"I'm good," Stiles promises. "I'm so good, Derek, I am _doing_ this."

Derek nods and relaxes into the chair more, and Stiles takes that as a sign it's okay to go on. He cups Derek's balls, warm and heavy in his hand, and presses fingers to the smooth skin just behind them. He leans down and kisses lightly, then sucks at them, making sloppy noises. Between them, Stiles hears the click of Derek's throat as he swallows loudly.

He tries to remember what Derek did, because what Derek did was freaking fantastic and Stiles doesn't have any other practical experience to go on. He knows it's not going to be the best blow job ever, that it's going to be more enthusiasm than skill, but Derek isn't going to mind. Stiles is totally confident this is going to be great for him too. It's a boyfriend blowjob, how could it not be?

He takes a few minutes to marvel holding another guy's dick in his hand, slowly jacking Derek off while Stiles rests his head against his thigh and watches the way it moves smoothly in his fingers. He twists his wrist a little, thumbs at the same spot Derek paid attention too, and feels amazing when he hears the way Derek moans. Whenever Stiles glances up, Derek's staring right back down at him, as if not willing to miss seeing a single second of this.

Stiles grins at him, places a firm kiss to the top of his leg, and then settles himself evenly on his knees. He presses one hand on Derek's stomach to help balance himself and hopefully keep Derek from bucking up because there's no way Stiles is ready to handle an unexpected mouth full of cock yet, and takes hold of the base of Derek's dick with his other hand. He noses at the side of his cock, feeling the heat radiating, and takes a tentative lick. Derek's muscles move under Stiles' hand and he can't help but grin. He licks again, and determining it really isn't much different than other skin, moves to take the cockhead into his mouth. He tastes the pre-come, salty and kinda weird but not awful. An acquired taste he hopes to have a lot more time to get used to.

When that's fine, he carefully sucks on head of Derek's cock, and moves his tongue in circles. Derek moans lowly, and that's a good sign, so Stiles does it more firmly. Derek puts his hand on Stiles' shoulder like he had encouraged Stiles to do; he doesn't squeeze, exactly, but when there's a pressure of fingertips, Stiles knows he's doing something right. It's reassuring, actually.

Stiles is able to move on to more, sinking deeper down on Derek's cock, careful to cover his teeth with his lips, while using his hand to pump at the base. He's starts slow, is a bit unsure just how much of it he can take without making a fool of himself and gagging, but Derek doesn't push. It doesn't take long at all before he picks up his pace, finding a steady rhythm of mouth meeting hand. Saliva drips down Derek's cock, but it makes the slipslide easier, and it isn't long before Derek's legs are trembling at Stiles' sides and the pressure of fingertips on his shoulder blade is constant.

"Stiles," Derek grunts out when he's really hard and it's obvious he's trying not to move his hips. "You can pull off, I'm gonna--"

Stiles just nods, but he doesn't pull off. Like hell he's missing this. He does what he can to suck harder, move his hand faster, and it isn't long before there's a warmth filling his mouth, hitting the back of his throat like a surprise while Derek groans deeply.

Stiles can't catch it all. He tries but swallowing with a cock that's coming in your mouth isn't the easiest, and he pulls off with a deep gasp to get some air. He can feel wet warmth splash against his cheek, his nose, but he makes sure to keep stroking Derek's cock until it goes soft in his hand.

"Holy man," Stiles says, coughing a bit when he tries to take a deep breath. "That was ..." He trails off, because maybe he isn't the one who should be making grand declarations of how great he is at sex.

"Awesome," Derek says, and sounds thoroughly truthful with that. He echoes Stiles' own earlier sentiment. "Fucking awesome." Stiles can't help but smile because _awesome_ , he's not horrible at sex!

Derek reaches out and thumbs over Stiles' face, and he can feel the come smear across. "Man," Stiles says, "I kinda feel like a porn star."

"You kinda look it," Derek says, looking over Stiles' face, trailing down his bare chest, and ending up staring at Stiles' dick that's still out.

"I'm taking that as the best compliment ever."

"Good," Derek says, and then licks the come off his thumb. He grins as Stiles stares at him open mouthed. "Also a fantastic look for you."

Stiles snaps his jaw shut, but then scrambles up onto Derek's lap, straddling him. Derek grunts when Stiles' already half-interested-again cock bumps up against his just-spent one. "Already?" Derek asks.

"Almost. Being eighteen is great in so many ways," Stiles says.

"Hard to argue that," Derek says, eyeing up the come on Stiles' cheek. He leans forward and kisses it, and then licks it, and Stiles stays still while he does. He doesn't know if it's a Derek thing, or a werewolf thing, or a combo of both since Derek _is_ both, but he lets it slide. It's pretty hot. When he's done there, he moves down to Stiles' neck even though there's no come, and Stiles happily indulges him by tilting his head back.

"We've still got time," Derek says, lips vibrating against Stiles' Adam's apple. Stiles squirms and huffs a laugh, because it feels weird, and he can feel Derek's mouth curve a smile. Derek pulls back to look him in the eye. "We could go upstairs."

"Why, Derek Hale, are you inviting me to your bedroom?" Stiles says, and nips along his jaw.

"I said upstairs," Derek says. "There's also a shower there."

Stiles groans and then kisses him hard. Showering with Derek has been on the fantasy list _forever_ for the past couple weeks. "How about," Stiles says, punctuating it with a slow kiss before he continues, "we go and mess around some more in your bedroom and _then_ shower."

"You drive a hard bargain," Derek says, deadpanned, "but it _is_ your birthday."

"Happy Legality Day to me," Stiles says, adding, "To _us_ ," and Derek laughs. Stiles stands up, tugging on Derek's hand. "Let's go."

Derek doesn't dare resist, but Stiles knows there's no way in hell he wants to.

\---

Stiles realises that it's not just his own life that's coming together, having a group of friends and looking towards college and finally, _finally_ dating someone in a relationship that looks like it could last, even with having to work out some serious speedbumps and all. And, you know, add the fact they had a _fantastic_ afternoon messing around with multiple mutual orgasms and starting to work their way up to a hell of a lot more. (Soon, Stiles knows that will be soon, but he's already enjoying the ride there.)

No, it's not just Stiles and his awesome plan to have a fantastic senior year, which looks like it's extending to awesome overall life. 

But, Stiles realises in the middle of a birthday party that's being thrown for him, it's all coming together for Derek too.

Despite his teasing, Stiles doesn't think Derek is a loner recluse at all. Not any more, at least. He used to be a creeper, hanging out in a burnt down shell of a house, and then an abandoned train station. But then he built his pack and after a rough start got things settled there, and then moved in with Isaac to be closer to them all and have an actual home. He even stepped up and took responsibility for Jackson the kanima, and at least forged a sort of weird, loose bond there. And now there's Stiles, and Stiles' pack, in which Stiles knows Derek’s always wanted an alliance with Scott, as sketchy as that's been over the last couple years. And then he even rebuilt that home, making it as big and beautiful as it once was.

But now? Stiles stands in the corner of the Hale living room, chatting up with Danny and Boyd, but keeping his eye on the rest. Allison and Lydia are cheering on as Scott and Erica duke it out boxing style on the Wii, and Derek and Isaac are on the couch in an animated conversation with Jackson, who's sitting on the arm of it and waving his hands around to stress his point -- could be about their stupid neighbours, the latest football game, Stiles doesn't know, his normal human hearing can't tell over the background music or the loud jeers and taunts of a competitive video game. Whatever it is, it's good and there's even short bursts of laughter from over there.

And Derek is sitting there, right in the middle of it all, looking around the room and taking in the scene. He doesn't seem annoyed to have all these people invading his new home -- he looks relaxed and peaceful, like he _wants_ it. And Stiles realises -- this is what it probably used to be like for him, in this place. Humans and werewolf packs coming together, not always fearing for their lives or for the lives of others, but just hanging out and _living_.

Derek and Stiles' eyes meet, and Derek smiles warmly at him. It's small and simple, but Stiles doesn't miss it and Stiles' heart feels like it might burst with so much pride and fucking happiness that there is no way the supernatural beings in the room are missing it.

Or, apparently, the humans.

"For crying out loud, Stiles," Danny says beside him, rolling his eyes, but grinning. "Just go over there and jump him already."

"So obvious," Boyd adds.

"I mean, it is your birthday," Danny says. "That's totally allowed."

"No it isn't!" Scott yells out, not missing a beat and jabbing the nunchuck through the air, scoring points as his avatar hits Erica's in the gut. She growls and attacks back, arms swinging as her eyes are transfixed on the television screen.

"No worries, Scott," Stiles calls out, "I'm saving it for later."

"Oh my god," Scott says, sounding a little too much like a whine, but doesn't lose concentration on the game.

In the middle of everyone's laughter, Derek gets off the couch like a flash of lightning. He takes Erica by surprise when he grabs her wrist and uses the Wii control she's holding to pause the game. Everyone in the room stops, as if frozen in time and space, and stares at him. There's a weird tension as they wait for his move.

 _Oh shit,_ Stiles thinks, and closes his eyes briefly. This is not at all how he wanted his birthday to go, and the last thing he needs is Derek making a mess of the packs that are bonding right now.

"It's time to settle this, Scott," Derek says, completely calm.

"What's that suppose to mean?" Scott says, on edge. He's trying to keep himself in check.

To Erica, Derek says, "I'll need your controller and nunchucks. It's time Scott and I duke it out." Turning to Scott, he adds, "And after I beat you, I can kiss Stiles whenever and wherever --"

"Hell yeah, wherever," Stiles adds under his breath, and Danny elbows him.

"--I want _without_ you saying a damn thing about it." He smiles at Scott, wide and full of teeth. "You on?"

"You better believe it," Scott says, and he gets a playful, competitive gleam to his eye, much like when Erica challenged him to a game.

It's like the entire room collectively sighs in relief, but then there's instant chatter, people picking sides and making bets.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Stiles says, walking forward and holding out his hands. "Whoa. Wait a minute here. If you're both going to be alpha dicks who fight over my honour--"

"Kisses," Scott says, "or lack thereof."

"Whatever," Stiles says, waving a hand absently. "I think that the stakes need to be made a little more even. This is awfully one-sided."

Scott doesn't look like he gets what Stiles could possibly be talking about, but Derek is suppressing a grin. He's on to Stiles, but says, "Go on."

Stiles shrugs, playing nonchalant. "If you ask me, Scott should put kissing -- or _not_ kissing -- Allison in public onto the table, don't you think?"

"What?" Scott says, looking alarmed.

"What?" Allison says, echoing him. She looks at Stiles with wide eyes. "Why would you suggest that?"

"Only seems fair," Stiles says sagely.

"Cool, I'm in," Derek says.

"What? No, I'm not in," Scott says. "Not cool."

"It's not _all_ kisses," Stiles points out. "Just public ones."

"Yeah, McCall," Jackson says, smirking. "Are you saying you're above playing fair? Gotta say, not surprised."

"No, of course not," Scott says instantly. Stiles fist pumps the air, because he knows that's got him. Allison groans and puts her face into her hands. "It's okay," Scott says to her, "I'm going to beat him. I'll so beat him."

"We'll see about that," Derek says, grinning smugly.

"Best of three," Stiles says, because he's seen them both play and knows this will actually be a pretty close match. Entertaining for all, at the very least. Erica relinquishes her controllers to Derek and he starts putting them on.

"Kiss for good luck?" Scott says to Allison.

"Oh hell yeah, baby," Stiles says, and practically jumps right onto Derek as he throws his arms around him, trapping his arms and controllers between their bodies. Everybody else either groans or laughs, but Stiles kisses his boyfriend anyway.

"Go get him," Stiles says into his ear.

Derek kisses him again and says, "You know it."

"Hey," Stiles says as Derek starts to pull away. Derek pauses and waits. Stiles just shrugs. "Thanks." He doesn't know exactly what he means for -- earlier in the day, allowing all their friends over, making an attempt to play somewhat nice with Scott, or whatever. Just. "Thanks."

Derek smiles, and kisses him softly once more. But he turns back to the TV when Scott starts making complaints that there needs to be a bet won for that kind of shit.

Stiles backs away so that they have room to play -- the swinging powerful arm of either alpha to the face would not be pleasant, even if they are only playing video games -- and joins the rest of them in a half circle around to watch.

 _Yep_ , Stiles thinks as he watches Derek and Scott shake hands, _best year._

 

~end


End file.
